


IV[or]y Wall

by Kitsoa



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Depression, Disney, Existential Angst, Friendship, Gaslighting, Gen, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Lore - Freeform, Metafiction, Mystery, Panic Attacks, Real world, Theory Crafting, post kh3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2020-05-31 15:23:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 90,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19428724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsoa/pseuds/Kitsoa
Summary: [Post-KH3] Reality grows unstable. The Black Box clicks open, latch after latch. A planned demolition. Riku searches frantically for his friend on the verge of his own destruction.-[x]-Sora awakens to an unforgiving world, powerless and alone. This was his fate. His steps were homeward.And the Master of the house was waiting.





	1. Prototype

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea that haunted me. And while I was writing it, the themes started becoming appropriate to my personal struggle. I am an avid KH theorist and found a compelling story in this line of speculation like no other. So, we are gonna build this a little slowly at first. Please enjoy.

**-Prologue-**

[-New Game-]

[-Settings-]

-Are you sure?-

[>Yes]

-Loading…-

-X Continue-

[>X]

It was a familiar sensation. Weightlessness surrounded by the consuming embrace of the void, like water clinging to every pore, ushering him slowly downward. Inevitable. Sora opened his eyes. 

His station was mesmerizing. The fractals of blue light that pushed past the imperfect glass drew a stark contrast to the bonds of black caulking etching his identity into the window. As always, he appeared young in the image-- a naive 14-year-old soon to be launched into an adventure. He was sleeping, nestled amongst illustrations of his memories. 

Sora righted himself in his slow fall, his black and yellow shoes easing onto the darker blue emblems at the foot of his massive monument. He straightened his posture to look along the vast span of his platform, its glow belying a world of black nonexistence. The air was heavy but sharp like a live wire was permeating all space. Sora never had to breathe here. 

**_There isn’t much time._ **

The voice. Sora knew it well. Its sound was more of a crystal clear feeling. Gravity. The voice was a guide. 

**_You have to keep moving. Can you do it?_ **

The question was palpable. It filled Sora’s limbs with tension and his mind buzzed with uncertainty. _Could_ he?

He obeyed. Taking an extra step for insurance. The air shifted. 

**_So many paths..._** The voice said and a flash of light in the abyss drew his attention. A rectangular platform of stained glass formed at the edge of the station across the way, followed quickly by another and another, spiraling a trail of colorful light into the air. The shimmering sound surrounded him and the reveal of two other paths on either side of him made him turn his head between them. To where they led, he had no clue.

**_So many stories. Which one will you experience?_ **

-?-

[>X]

-?-

[>X]

The station had changed. The picture was the same, but the color bled a deep red. _Her_ young face stared back at him from a dramatic angle. So did _his…_ so did…

The emotion was like being pinched awake. It settled a heavy rock in his gut, the weight of which seeped through his body to his toes and his lungs. Wretched bitterness. Longing. He _missed_ them. 

**_So many paths._ **

The voice repeated. 

**_So many wrong turns._ **

The floor shivered. From _their_ faces sprung unfamiliar creatures. They were small, green things with sheer skin like a phantom. Angular, almost sharp, their foremost appendages were fit with sprawling daggers. Upon their heads were a strange pair of antenna, sweeping behind their pointed, muzzled faces like long ears. They scratched the platform glass with instant jerks, their eyes boring into him like black pits. 

**_Can you right the wrongs?_ **

[]

The weight in his hands was a beloved burden. His fingers curled tighter still around the textured grip of the key. The power oozing from the blade bathed him in waves of relief, an old friend. He fought the very sudden pressure behind his eyes as his heart embraced the sword to its lonely scabbard. But Sora didn’t even spare it’s gleaming gold hilt and silver shaft a glance and instead trained a focused glare to the creatures. They scuttled in confused, jagged motions like they were being pulled in multiple directions at once. 

He coiled himself back, feeling a well of power, a map of instincts, a shiver of excitement. And with a lurch forward, he unleashed a precise swing to the nearest green scrub. The hit was squared. The creature reeled in the kickback, but it could clearly take a little more. 

It was like breathing after that. Sora swung the teeth around, bludgeoning the crowd of crawling enemies in efficient strikes. The creatures produced an occasional warble, a garbled screech, guaranteed when their forms collapsed around his key, dispersing into a spiraling puff of shimmering essence. 

The pace was sure until he felt a retaliating slash make contact along his calf. The claws ripped into his flesh metaphysically, Sora feeling the gaping damage dig right into the core of his existence rather than make waste of his muscles and skin, even if the pain was just as draining.

_‘Come on Sora, I thought you were stronger than that!’_

Perhaps Sora’s eye caught his friend’s image too long. The memory grabbed him by the neck and he shook off a spell of overwhelming emotion with a shocked stumble. The Keyblade felt more like splintered wood in his palms. The swipes were a little more reckless and hungry like he was trying to prove himself. Like they would win him something impossible. 

The Kingdom Key froze in alert, the stage empty. 

**_Mistakes can be hidden and destroyed. But you can always make more._ **

Sora took a step back. The floor shimmered again, as though the surface was turned into a quaking and viscous liquid, this time in a dauntingly large radius. Then a massive hand-- animalistic, with curling claws-- exploded out of the sleeping expression of his pictured fourteen-year-old face and crashed along the edge of the stained glass tower. Another paw followed, it’s skin a refracting collection of jagged green glass. With convulsing jerks, the arms hoisted the rest of the creature from the undulating ground, revealing a humanoid head with skin like a cracking emerald. Large pointed ears pulled back from the side of its head and what appeared to be a forward sprawl of rock-like hair grew from its head beneath a crystalline mockery of a crown.

It loomed over him, Sora taking uneven steps closer to the edge of the station. A maw of sharp crystal teeth tore open to the sky, sharing the same pitch-black void inside. It released a deafening wail. Chains rattled, coils of thick links drooping along its rock torse which pantomimed some idea of clothes. It pulled its legs from the portal, feet a semblance of some kind of large shoe, left hanging off the ledge like the gangly limbs of a prepubescent teenager. It stumbled into an upright position with a thrashing tail behind it, tufted like a lion and as dangerous as a morning star. 

Its eyes were punched-in holes of envious black. Fixated. 

The Keyblade slacked unconsciously in Sora’s hand. And the tail wound itself back. 

At its erupting impact, the battle began. A wire of fear launched Sora into an examining defense of the crystalized creature. It swung its paws low and he rolled to avoid it. Fortunately, it was slow… except when chance would cause the beast to blink out of existence like a glitch-- only to slam back into view instantly, a foot closer. For the sake of battle data, Sora let a sweeping claw graze him. Like it’s smaller incarnations’ attacks, the wound dug beyond the flesh, this hit leaving a howling burn in its wake. In the hurling kick-back, Sora parried his weight with a determined post of his leg. 

Sora crouched low as he observed its pattern. It keenly targeted him but was bogged down by a horrid windup. After two failed predictable swipes-- dodged along the line between surface and void, the beast leaned back and gathered a luminous ball of energy in its teeth. Sora got the confirmation of a projectile he needed to put himself into offensive motion. The teeth of his keyblade gleamed and promptly tore through the paws of the beast at ease all while the hum of the energy charged.

A pulsing sound indicated its release. Sora scurried to the corners of his heart platform as the blast scattered. 

It then became a dance. His keyblade would hack away at the thing when the opportunity knocked, screeches like shattered glass forcing him to fight through involuntary flinches. A respite from the string of leaping hits would force a reassessment, finding weak cores in its arms and drooping head. Its tail was the most unpredictable thing, bludgeoning Sora from behind with a nasty crack. It was one such time that the beast followed up with a juggling swipe and he was found free-falling, the burning pain gnashing his teeth to the point of erosion. 

How much could this thing take? Hulking battles like these were a testament to endurance, something Sora was finding himself in short supply of. Impatience seeped into his bones and expelled his sense of self-preservation. 

Sora charged forward, jumped high into the air and cracked the green thing in the jaw, it’s resemblance to a big cat more apparent with its profile. He followed up, knocking it three more times back and forth, each blow recoiling up his arm in the strain. Then, with a pinwheel turn to build momentum, Sora struck the beast atop the crown-like protrusion on its head. 

It shrieked horribly, a roar like garbled elephants coming from its maw. It seized Sora’s stomach more so than any leap-induced vertigo. And then there was an ear-splitting crack to harmonize with the scream. It cut off abruptly. 

The crater of Sora’s attack splintered a blinding light. It branched down its face, beneath it’s draping chains to the tip of its lion tail. The light buckled around those faults before suddenly erupting. 

Sora hit the floor of his station in a crumpled heap. Around him rained shards of green crystals. Their landing like tinkling music. Glass on glass. Immediately he registered the exhaustion, but the satisfaction of victory was king. Between panting huffs (was he already out of shape?), Sora watched the creature’s remains litter his station, speckling glitter around a particular illustration on the glass.

A kind and loving eye staring back at him through his sprawled fingers. 

That pinching emotion twisted at his heart again. Those same eyes spilling over in tears, fighting a resigned smile. His left hand tingled. The surreal sense of vertigo creeping upon him and crescendoing with blaring, dire, catastrophic alarm. Slipping. He was falling. Her hand in his was the only ledge he could purchase and that too was fading. The strength it took to hide the fear was greater than any blade he had ever wielded. 

**_Mistakes..._ **

The voice returned and Sora felt a chill of irritation. Its gravity was somehow painful. Familiar.

**_… make you stronger. But they too can grow._ **

A roar ripped through the air. Blustering. Mechanical. Angry.

Sora lifted his head but it was too late. From the heap of crystal shards erupted a figure that closed the distance in a lightning fast dash. He didn’t even get a good look at the thing before he was hurled onto his back, skull cracking against the platform, a foot pinning him by the right shoulder. That angry sound revved again, barreling through the silence. Sora opened the eyes that had reflexively closed.

It stood over him-- smaller-- skin refracting that same green, but of a pale shade, more translucent. The grotesque amalgamation of rock flaked with transparent dust, revealing a human cut face-- a boyish nose and a straight line for the mouth. "Human" was the best approximation, though chains still rattled and a tail still swung behind it. Sora couldn’t help but feel the terrifying sense of recognition in the still void-like gaze of this monster.

Yet in its paw-like hands, a new contraption salivated over Sora, a large sword buzzing and gyrating gnarled crystal teeth like a chainsaw. It curled back along its arc and without warning snapped forward.

>Move

>MOVE!

**_> >>>MOVE_ **

**[ >x] **

Sora wretched the keyblade from his right hand with desperate fingers. In a blink, the shaft was stretched before him in defense as a high pitched metallic clatter rained sparks and glass shards like a screaming blender. Piercing agony bloomed in Sora’s wrist at the relentless pressure and horrible angle, but the opening was clear.

He pushed through the pain, shoving the crystalline, chainsaw-slinging boy back, the weapon unwieldy enough to send it stumbling. Sora leaped to his feet, tossing the keyblade into his dominant hand and following up with a critical strike to its’ side. This monster didn’t cry out. That made things easier. He pressed on.

Fight _Fight FIGHT_

The satisfaction of the consecutive combo was short lived. Pushed to the edge of his heart station, the lion creature broke from it's mindless, ragdoll stare to size up the drop behind it. A semblance of fear somehow inching along the rim of those punched out holes called eyes.

And then it glitched. Like it’s lesser incarnations and the beastly form it assumed moments before, its physical hold on reality folded over, blinking it out of existence until it stumbled back in.

That’s when the gouging shred of the crystal chainsaw plowed into his shoulder. Sora recoiled back, his free hand grappling the nonexistent wound in a pointless attempt to stifle the oozing bleed out of essence he so surely felt. But the beast was relentless, squaring a blow along his jaw that sent him flying back. Sora smacked the stained glass once again, the keyblade dissolving and his head reeling from the impact while the lion thing shifted back in preparation for something new. 

A white glow emanated from behind and Sora whipped his head around to see ethereal chains sprawl from the creature's chest-- now an illuminated blueprint of a heart. Those chains shot out like vipers and Sora’s world was consumed by a lurching jerk as they wrapped around his wrists and ankles and head. Tightly coiled and digging deep, they snaked around his body and began to drag him closer. Sora bucked wildly against his bindings, eyes fixed on the greedy heart of this strange enemy. Every inch forward increased the panic, this electric trill of useless, mind-scrambling alarm. 

And for a moment the thing took on a color other than green. An indecisive shade of red along the clothes, hair refining its texture to a dull brown, rock softening to a fleshy tone… Its mirror likeness was a dawning horror. 

Sora wrestled the chains with vigor. Between the links was a shocking lack of pigmentation from his skin. His clothes seeped light. A familiar ghostly likeness.

The dreading realization was a cold stone in his stomach. The drain of his corporeal form traveled fast up his arms. His pulse was a war drum. 

The beast with his face looked on him with hunger as it drew him in. Sora’s arms, though pulled by the spindles were not bound to his body and he grabbed at the chains curling around his neck with significant contortion. His fingers made clicking sounds against the links, hardening stone themselves. The rubber soles of his shoes squealed along the station, a war between catching friction and sliding rock-on-rock. 

At the base of its feet, Sora’s fighting grasp on the neck chain slackened in a violent jerk. The bindings ushering him toward this devouring abomination. The attempt to block from sight the source of his inevitable demise was fruitless. His shaking hands were now a transparent sprawl of pleading fingers. 

Sora screamed, tears pooling his vision. 

A flash of light erupted in his bound hand. 

And everything stopped. 

A breathless gasp filled the air. Warbled. The echo of a million voices. Confused. And very much in pain. 

Drawn from the scrambled scabbard of his heart, the keyblade settled in Sora’s grip but from there it would not move. Resistance. The chains grew slack. Sora’s keyblade directly impaled the light of the lion boy’s heart. Its black eyes stared right into him.

Sora twisted the key. There was a _click_.

The glow warmed, spreading along its limbs from the heart where Sora’s keyblade penetrated. The humanoid colors and textures faded into a sheer icy glass. Ghastly and fragile, it caught that illuminating light along the fractal of its skin. The chains dissipated in a flaky smattering of stardust. Meanwhile, the glass on its skin began to chip away, peeling into the ether. 

Sora slumped forward as his shackles disappeared. His own limbs had returned to proper color and texture, the firm reality they emitted was a precious intangible gift after their momentary absence. Exhaustion dripped from them, but his hand was still on the hilt of his blade.

He pulled back to take in its final moments. This terrible thing. 

And the fading lion boy reached out to him. Yearning. Gaze unwavering. Desperate. It pulled at Sora’s heart in a different way and his fingers twitched in hesitant reception-- if only a little mystified. 

It smiled at him and was no more.

The silence was endless. The washing fatigue grew exponentially. It was truly finished.

**_Only time will tell..._ **

The voice’s return was an ice bath and Sora found every muscle clenched tight. It was a sick nausea that made his keyblade tremble. 

**_...the real winners._ **

The station shimmered for the third time, this time underneath Sora’s shoes. He stumbled as it undulated like liquid. Permeation kicking in and grabbing hold of his feet while he slowly sunk through reality. Uncertainty pumped heavy heartbeats. 

**_\--But don’t be afraid._ **

Sora’s balanced keeled over and he crashed into the liquid floor. The Keyblade slammed to the ground without clatter. The consuming station then took his hands.

**_You hold the mightiest weapon of all._ **

His legs were submerged. He fought in vain as gravity pushed him deeper and deeper. Thoughts stacked upon thoughts. Welling through the panic. Drowning. Defiance. Desperation. Déjà vu.

Not yet not yet notyet idontwanttogobackNONONOjustalittlelongerpleasenot yetNO

**_So don’t forget:_ **

Sora sipped the air out of instinctive habit, his body, his ears, everything-- gone. Fighting until dark nothingness took him away once again.

**_You are the one who will open the door._ **

-Continue?-

* * *


	2. Disjointed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A side note, the next... 4 or so chapters are all cut from a single, massive chapter. So... stay tuned!

_Beepbeep beepbeep beepbee---_

The blaring phone alarm met the haphazard landing of a tired hand. There was a clatter as the brutish response knocked it from its bedside perch and momentum slid it deeper under the bed. The alarm persisted, echoing off the bare wood floors.

A groan, undead in quality. The boy, tangled in blankets, thrashed a great protest.

The alarm continued to shriek. 

In a burst of retaliation, he threw the covers off himself and then hurled over the edge to retrieve it. He tapped the screen of the offensive thing with several unsure jabs before fate would have his finger pads land on the proper buttons. The silence was like jumping into the ocean.

He slumped back, phone slacking in his grip. Eyes still bleary but the blood rushing a little faster, he surveyed the morning light in his unfamiliar room. Empty, save for basic furnishing. A western-style bed, covered in uninspired white, a side table begging for a lamp, a hollow dresser completely untouched. Only the desk had life, covered in scraps of rejected letter drafts around an abandoned metal crown necklace.

Sora could feel his heartbeat in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Fatigue took to the darkness like a jealous wife. That sinking sensation tugged hard against the declared coherence, inviting back black voids filled with beautiful beacons of colorful stained glass. Phantom memories danced. An envious monster, its screaming chainsaw, the absolute terror of it dragging him closer, the greater terror of leaving that stage behind. Sora’s breath hitched.

“That dream again.” Maybe if he said it aloud the details would stay longer. He wondered why it had to be so cruel, taunting him night after night. And he wondered why the memories fled so fast. Sora wasn’t used to such fairweather things. He wasn’t used to much lately. 

A shrill tone rapped against the window above his bed. Curiosity a muscle memory, Sora perched himself along the morning light to take in the view.

Tokyo’s grand horizon stared back from the stories-high apartment window. An angry traffic skirmish indicated the blustering streets of the Shibuya ward where people milled like ants. His complex was positioned in such a way that the notable Shibuya Crossing could be glimpsed like the corner of a buzzing beehive. The profile of the 104 shopping mall burned into his eyes a little too fiercely, even in the morning light. 

A different sounding alarm brought Sora to reality. He looked at his spazzing phone only to read the reminder with expectant dread. 

_‘Get ready for school’_

A little on the nose, Sora tossed the phone onto his sheets and moseyed to the small closet in the corner where lie a navy school uniform. The elaborate emblem on the breast pocket suggested a finer pedigree, one that his former school made no attempts towards. He grabbed them off the hook, cursing the sudden pause the flash of red in the dark closet gave him. The familiar hood of the thick jacket and cargo pants were tossed on the floor of the storage space. 

Methodical, the morning routine guided him through bathroom rituals and haphazard finger combing. He fastened the buttons of the dress shirt and shuffled on the slacks and blazer. Stiff, even after a decent adjustment period, Sora tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, clothes far too tight. The strip of light blue fabric was thumbed cautiously like a bitter pill. 

His old high school uniform had a tie. Not that he ever had the chance to wear it.

For the third time that morning, Sora’s phone chirped its strange jingle, different from the alarms and in a manner that brought more hesitation. The device was sleek, lacking the protective bulk and color of a case and Sora often found it slipping through his fingers. When he unlocked it, the mail notification brought of shiver of tension.

_ < Try making some friends today. <3 > _

Sora sucked in a breath through his teeth, vague feelings swelling to the surface. The stares, the guarded eyes, and veiled expressions. Whispers. Scrutiny. Wariness. Disappointment. Rinse, repeat.

“I’m _trying_.” He defended aloud after a moment. He hated the waver in his tone. A helplessness he wasn’t sure how to produce on purpose. The texts raced along the backlit screen under his thumb, like a nervous pace. The expectation was a daunting rock in his gut and a little more than irritating. 

Him. Having trouble making friends.

Anonymous. The sender was a mess of numbers, identity never asserted. The message history was bountiful though, and Sora found himself scrolled all the way to the top once again. Drawn to the pervasive mystery of this little device, the characters slotted into his focused gaze as they did several days ago when he first laid eyes on them.

__________

____________________

______________________________

[4 days ago]

Sleep still dripped off his bones like a viscous liquid. Fresh rainfall dewed in patches on his dark clothes, clinging to his skin in a similar discomfort. Nevertheless, a familiar sense of wonder moved his feet forward, shoes splashing in shimmering puddles upon the black asphalt. His eyes darted around with adrenaline-fueled caution. The dazzling flash of neon lights, the sweeping height of the dark metropolis-- nothing absolutely foreign to his understanding but existing beyond any expectation. 

Big. It was huge. And not in ways he had grown accustomed too. A looming skyline, impossibly deep. A horizon so far and pitch black, practically starless. Memories echoed in his mind-- the lamplight in a lonely and mysterious town, encased in eternal night. A young boy, left renegade and alone, daunted by the harrowing confirmation that he was very _very_ small. And after all this time, the phantoms of that feeling stirred in his chest.

The confusion from such a realization was lost in the haze of befuddling sights. 

Sora stopped along the eerily empty crossings, head still craned up, taking in the red font on the skyscraper, like a focal point. The weight of this… world… so palpably heavy. 

The air rushed along the walls. Water dripped along the streets. Silence. 

\--Shattered by a sudden, high-pitched, digital chime. 

A familiar ditty, a rousing fanfare converted to endearing bleeps that instantly made Sora’s heart leap. A habit formed in the short months of his most recent journey, he shot his hands to his pockets lightning fast. He fumbled the unwieldy gummiphone from its confines, almost choking on the wave of desperate hope welling in his throat. That was _his_ ringtone. That was the sound that preceded the face of his closest friends. They were calling him. He was going to see them. Riku, the King, Donald, Goofy-- 

A dead screen stared back. 

Empty and powerless. The gummiphone was a lump of useless plastic and the sight didn’t register properly. Sora’s mind was just as blank. Confused. Expectant. He was pressing the button and nothing was happening. Something was wrong. The haze was sharp and elicited a small whine from his lips.

“Come on…” He moaned. Sora shook the device, slapping it along his palm spastically. The screen was still dead. 

But his ringtone sang on, disgustingly chipper. 

And then it registered _where_ the sound was coming from. Distant, a way to his right. 

Mindless. He followed the sound. Step by step. Confusion heightened by the rocking shift of his weight. Madness from the pendulum of senseless motion.

He stopped at the foot of a curb, dividing the line between street and sidewalk. A sleek device much like his gummiphone drew him like a moth to a flame. From its speakers blared his familiar tune. He picked it up, recognizing the ‘accepting call’ button as similar to the interface he had to learn before. Before he could swipe the green in affirmative the call ended, screen flashing the alerting concern in red letters with a swath of silence. 

He scrutinized the device in his hand with a clumsy twist of his wrist. It beeped a different tone and a message popped on the screen.

_ < Are you lost Little King? > _

______________________________

____________________

__________

Sora held his head down.

His fellow pedestrians paid him little mind. They blurred past his brisk pace, lifelessly hurling themselves through their day. Hand in his pants pocket, thumbing circles in his cellphone, he adjusted his school bag and peaked his chin up tentatively. Checking the crosswalk before plowing across the street, the rumbling vehicles idly seized with agitation. 

People spilled from the train doors. Bodies around him far too close, he pushed past shoulders in strategic bobs and weaves. He wasn’t going to repeat his first day, polite regard and overwhelming congestion allowing the doors to the train slam shut and zip away without him. The floor rumbled beneath his shoes as he secured his place on the transit. He only lurched a little when it took off. 

There was a familiar blur of navy in the corner of his vision. A nestled pair of students in Soroku High School Uniforms chattered bombastically during their morning commute. He didn’t recognize them, but a wave of vulnerability doused over him and he tucked himself a little deeper among the bodies of commuters. The message from Anonymous burned in his mind’s eye.

_ < Try making some friends today. <3 > _

His heart was starved. But his stomach turned. Sora darted off the train when the momentum settled, unwilling to let the pair of peers catch up with him as they followed to the same destination. 

Soroku High School was a small establishment on the corner of main street offshoot, two good blocks away from the post office and in the throes of commercial shops. There was little yard to speak of as the building and its middle school feeder towered several stories high with a distinctly modern flair to the architecture. The bustle of traffic bounced off the windows of the classrooms.

The daunting sensation that consumed him the first day he laid eyes on the school had only dimmed a fraction. This first week was a long one. 

Sora shuffled by the shoe lockers, taking his shoes off and peeling back the door at the bottom corner of the cubicles. He was a little slower than the students around him in ways that made him furtively glance left and right. He slipped the house shoes on in a fumble, trying to not mind the distracted stares of the strangers around him, entranced by this new spectacle in quiet ways. 

The door to his classroom was already opened as students milled in before the classes commenced. This allowed him a noiseless entry amongst the swell of animated conversations. Friends rattling on about gossip and schoolwork and an episode of television last night. Sora made his way to his desk, second row, two aisles from the window-- but he couldn’t avoid the scooting groan of the chair legs against the floor.

“Kakehashi-kun~”

The voice was in a sing-song tone but blended in with the animation around him. Sora placed his bag on the hook and settled into his chair. 

“ _Oi_! Kakehashi!”

Rather abruptly, a pair of hands slammed down on the desk before him. Sora jumped, his right arm coiling back, hand in an unconscious fist, grabbing for something that wasn’t there. The amused grin of a male classmate consumed his vision, eyes wide in some exaggerated concern. Sora slyly loosened his hand, hoping no one had noticed the obvious paranoia. The rude peer rocked back casually, catching the eye of some classmates in the desks behind him before releasing an exasperated sigh. 

“They weren’t kidding when they said the new kid’s a space cadet.”

Sora, uncertain, put on a smile. “Good morning Yoshida... _san_.” 

Sora was very good at remembering names, the honorifics… not so much. He could only play the foreigner card so much with courtesy. Yoshida stood out as carefree and personable, his classmates flocked to his charisma for a good laugh and a strong opinion. At the moment they seemed to be enjoying a pretty funny one with how he kept glancing and laughing at (with?) the folks in the back of the classroom. 

“Hey hey so I just found out--” A giddy laugh stopped him, high on a joke. “So I just found out that I’m going on vacation to _Hawaii_ this summer and I was wondering if you could teach me how to say some things in _Hawaiian_.”

The way he stressed the word was obnoxiously theatrical. There were stifled giggles from the peanut gallery. Sora’s neck tensed involuntarily while his stomach coiled tight. An unbearable wave of dread rolled through his veins like a cold bath. The proverbial spotlight was a blistering beam. 

Eyes flickering for an escape, Sora’s tongue instinctively sharpened behind his clamped teeth. It took all his will power and logic to contain that line of verbal defense.

“Well?” Yoshida pressed with irritation.

Sora squirmed, wishing he’d just press the punchline button and move on. He searched for his words, afraid of the incriminating and damning things he could say. In this case, he couldn’t even find a good lie.

“E-Excuse me?” He managed to spit out. Buy time, divert attention. 

“Come on! Hawaiian. _Ha-wai-ian_! You’re from there aren’t you?”

That… was supposed to be his cover story.

“Yes?”

“Say something in Hawaiian!”

“I don’t… ahh.” He avoided the expectant gaze. He was always a terrible liar… The truth was reckless in his hands half the time, as open honesty was an inherent policy of his. He was always lucky to have his… _friends_ … to talk him out of those sticky situations. 

Wretched bitterness returned like an arch enemy. Sora felt his heart seize at the cavernous hole that came back into awareness. He tried to stamp it out like a simple house pest.

“Really?” More laughing. Mortified, Sora felt himself sink in his chair. His elbows resting on the desk, he curled face closer to his arms, a slow retreat. “How about your English?”

“... _please…_ ” 

What... was he supposed to say? What would work? He didn’t comprehend the very language flitting through his head, less so the ones from other countries on this world.

“Hm? What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Sora felt his teeth grind together. His jaw bloomed a horrible ache. He eyed the door. The rest of his surrounding peers were growing distracted by their golden boy’s project with the new kid-- ever the pervasive mystery. They did nothing.

They were so much nicer on his first day. 

“Please… leave me alone…” The words felt wrong. 

Yoshida raised a brow, a satisfied smile hovering around his lips. He curled himself into a semblance of concern. “Oh, sorry sorry!” He insisted, removing himself from the casual lean he was placing on Sora’s desk. He put a show of sheepishness on with a sharp self-conscious exhale.

“Yeesh, there I go getting carried away! I was just curious. Sorry, Kakehashi-kun!”

He could have pressed harder, but that would have been too direct to the new kid. People were still making their mind up about Sora after all. Yoshida retreated to his entourage, passing a low comment in a much less animated tone.

“Knew something wasn’t right about him.” That made Sora sit up straight. He resisted the urge to turn around to face the continuing conversation. The lack of care against surrounding ears was probably intentional. Another voice responded only slightly hushed. 

“Is he actually from the States?” 

“Yeah, I hear some transfers like to beef up their resumes.”

Yoshida’s voice carried a resonant bemusement. “But he’s got nothing to back his story up.”

“How did he even pass the entrance exam?!”

“ _\--Jeez,_ ” The voice that cut across the room was humorless and stern, dripping with irritation. Sora couldn’t control how fast it sucked in his attention.

Inoue Ami had a glare that could kill. She was already well classified as an uptight sort and she had the title of ‘class rep’ to back it up. 

“You should get in your seat Yoshida. You know class is about to start.” 

A routine it seemed. She narrowed her eyes at him, taking far too seriously her responsibilities with the class. Yoshida kicked off yet another desk he was leaning on with a lively chirp of affirmation.

“Sure thing!” He sauntered to the front of the room to make his way to the desk by the door. While passing his stern classmate he gave a playful coo. “Oh, but do keep your eye on the new kid Rep-- _he’s a liar._ ”

With that, Yoshida settled in his chair, Inoue rolling her eyes in disgust. She, unfortunately, had the desk right in from of his and positioned herself standing alongside it. There was a glance at the clock and the student leader cleared her throat. The bell signified the start of the day and the homeroom teacher plowed in, shutting the door behind her.

“Rise! ...Bow!”

The chairs lurched from their desks as the class stood in practiced perfection. They were bowing by the time Sora got to his feet.

-Loading...-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in order for this story to work out, I need some introductory conflicts with some supporting cast/extras. They are not main characters in the slightest. Furthermore, Sora's got a fake last name! It took me a while to settle on "Kakehashi" (written 梯) but it was important that it was a legit last name. I just laugh cause it's more of a mouthful than Sakuraba! I will explain how he got that moniker, and no Sora did not come up with it himself. 
> 
> So like, Sora's in Japan. There's a lot of Japanese culture and school customs, so anticipate that, but through an outsider perspective (though, we don't necessarily know Sora's homegrown customs. There could be crossover!). I am not gonna get everything right and getting in the head of an average Japanese adult is challenging for a Westerner, let alone a Japanese teenager. I cannot be sure I am perfectly capturing the average social behaviors but I will use this setting with care. I appreciate the understanding!
> 
> Some format housekeeping. I indicate scene change with a line break, but flashbacks get that three-line lead-in and lead-out. They will crop up from time to time fyi and they continue chronologically off the same scene. Finally, there are texts messages! Anything within a < > is incoming messages and Sora sends out messages in the inverse. > <
> 
> Thank you! The next several chapters are already written, look forward to them!


	3. Defense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments! I can't tell you how much it motivates me.

Sora did not miss school. It didn’t take long for the buzz of restlessness to shiver under his skin. He took to fiddling with his pencil as the lecture rolled in one ear and out the other… numbers were flying around the board… it must have been math. He wasn’t sure if the subject worked the same as where he was from. He was well behind whatever concept they were discussing should they actually align. 

By then, the tension from the morning episode had just about completely uncoiled. In the days prior, the curious grilling to his backstory had become commonplace among his peers. They were genuine questions, understandable and innocent, wholly intended to open his defenses… and perhaps form a connection. Caught off guard, Sora must have given enough bland nonanswers to quell the initial crowd of female classmates from his innate intrigue.

It didn’t take them long to get bored. His responses were too slow. He fished for words too often. He avoided elaborate stories. He glanced at his phone like a security blanket. Even when he furtively chuckled at his own discomfort in an easy question-dodge, the endearment failed to charm them. 

“Why did you move here?” They’d ask, the memory of his name on the board completely forgotten.

 _ <People need a reason for why you are at a new school! It doesn’t happen a lot and people get curious.> _Anonymous would respond. Late. He was always hours behind the need, but the questions were of a repetitive nature.

 _ >What do I say?< _Sora snuck his questions along the frustrating phone keypad at a horribly slow pace. The teachers of this ‘under-the-desk’ method were all around him in the classroom, only they were so much faster.

_ <Blame a parent. People have to change jobs all the time and they take their kids with them.> _

That sat weirdly with him. Sora dodged the image of his parents coming to mind with a strange ease. Who knew what kind of guilt that could arise from his heart with them. 

“My ... _dad_ got a new job.” Adults, when mentioned, were never interesting enough to carry a follow-up. 

It seemed like many of the girls thought he was attractive, or there was perhaps a hard-to-shake foreign allure to him. They kept coming back after the disappointing conversations. They liked his hair. It was wild and unruly and light. He got a comment on his eyes on the first day. Their bright blue was dazzlingly different. For the stubborn sort, they worked their imagination between his apparent lack of wit. 

But everyone tired soon enough. Sora wasn’t exactly aiming for this, but the nature of the questions only made things more challenging. 

“Is it true that there’s a _Cometbucks_ at every corner in America?”

_> They keep asking weird questions about Hawaii.<_

_ <Just agree with their assumptions. It makes it easier for everyone. I believe in you!” _

That made him crack a smile. Once a mindless default, the kindness was too warm to resist. It was simple, but Sora could stretch the confidence for miles. 

“Kakehashi-kun?”

“Oh? _uh_...Yeah.”

The honeymoon period was tentative and cautious, and Sora failed it for the most part. Folks like class-local Yoshida and his closest cohorts keyed into his weaknesses and worked to return the hierarchy to the status quo. He was an intruder to their months established routine. A mid-year transfer was not a completely unheard of scenario, but different enough to make the class hearken to the most notable sitcom or anime trope they knew. Fantastical by nature and threatening by circumstance.

He couldn’t really blame them. It felt pretty contrived on Sora’s end as well. 

“Your Japanese is so good!”

Sora’s heart had leaped at the kindness-- his bright grin pulled at the first chance for air. Without even fully comprehending the compliment, he had chirped an eager reply. 

“Thank you!” 

Maybe he was too insistent. They didn’t intend to ignite him like that and looked a little lost. Fortunately, his smile was surprisingly magnetic and pushed the dialogue past Round 1.

“Did you… learn it when you were young?” Sora had to hide the stress of confusion and loosen his tongue.

“...Yes.” A silence. Was he supposed to continue?

“ _Uh_ ...Neat.” Round 2 failure.

Lunch period rolled around and for the first time since arriving, he wasn’t swarmed by shallow curiosities. He gave it a moment as students milled through their bags or got up from their seats, but they let him be for a change. Sora recognized the gentle twist in his gut as disappointment. 

He thumbed the plastic-wrapped package, eyeing the price sticker and the lackluster product in the store-bought bento-box with caution. The past few days he had failed to bring a lunch. An onset of anxiety crippled him before he could join the line of students purchasing a quick bite from the stand. He asked Anonymous about it and the next day the package appeared in the small apartment fridge. The contents were familiar enough, he grew up munching on boxed lunches like this, but the freshness was far from home. Though, it was better than having nothing to eat at all. 

As he was finding with every new experience (--and ‘store-bought’ was entirely new), Sora thought it wise to investigate with privacy. He weaseled past the milling students and into the hall, quickly finding the stairwell. A glance around him proved the coast clear and he flew up the steps. Flight after flight, the pace immediately started to protest with his muscles, the ceiling climbed at a frustrating rate until the path finally ended at the door to the roof-access. 

Riku told him in the schoolyard a lifetime ago that all the cool high schoolers ate lunch on the roof. Sora remembered that being one of the few things to get him excited for another year of learning. 

His friend’s name was a bloom of poison that only the sight of a familiar sky could balm. He pushed forward to that promised exit.

The knob to the roof access door froze after a breath of motion. 

It was locked.

Sora’s hand lingered on the door a little too long. The weight of nothing acutely present in his chest. He refused to direct that feeling into thought. He turned away, mouth an even line as he began a slower descent back down the steps.

His weight plowed along methodically. The bento box pressed its contents against the sealed plastic. Flight after flight, it was a competition to see what floor had the dirtiest landing. The void rattled with his defeated return. If he closed his eyes, the echo of his footfalls had the same hollow sound as that eerily quiet night.

__________

____________________

______________________________

[4 days ago continued] 

< _You need to get out of the street. > _

The phone vibrated unnecessarily as the chat bubble shoved the cryptic opening question up the screen’s chatspace. Honestly baffled at the unfolding, Sora stared at the message in fixation. Questions he couldn’t completely pin down spun in his head. He wasn’t sure what to do with the thing.

< _Now! > _It insisted, lacking the urgency of a spoken command. 

Sora broke away from the screen to glance at his surroundings. He still stood in the sea of black asphalt, shining from the recent rainfall. The warmly lit sidewalk hovered beyond the lip of the curb where the phone was found. Reflections of the luminous city pulled him further away, the screaming neon advertisements occasionally shifting and morphing. A billboard left of the towering 104 building caught his attention in particular. 

Peculiar, the billboard’s random array of text characters cycled rapidly into a nondistinct blur. Unreadable, strange. Like a glitch. 

...That suddenly _snapped_. The dark background of the screen did a 180, flashing an eye-popping color that made Sora’s eyes squint. 

Now, the digital billboard flashed a larger-than-life image of a beautiful woman’s serious face, doused in make-up. The words “ _Facade Beauty_ ” floated alongside her exclusively. It was not the only thing that suddenly shifted. The air seemed to hum with the dull roar of zooming vehicles. The silence from before, which cradled his lonely footsteps now skirted to a more ambient buzz. 

Things in motion, the folly of nightlife. The font on signs shimmered before his eyes. Flickers of figures in the distance grabbed his attention. It was a little like breaking the consuming ocean’s surface. The rush of colors and sounds was not deafening but indicative of a whole new world.

In his mesmerized haze, the dramatic shift of light around him made little sense. His shadow snapped clean lines along the street and stretched out further and further from his feet. 

There was a thundering tone. The sound grew louder, accompanied by a desperate mechanical growl.

Sora felt reality click back into place. He whipped his head around to face the source of light and sound and his stomach dropped in the process. A massive beast barreled toward him, screaming murderously. Its eyes were points of impossibly bright light. A horn blared hysterically. 

Overwhelmed with a wave of electrifying instinct, Sora dove into a somersault, head crashing haphazardly along the curb. He stumbled into a defensive crouch along the sidewalk, phone miraculously in his grip while his open fist snatched the air in defensive habit. 

A large truck whistled past him, kicking up a wind that tossed his hair. 

Behind him paused the tread of concerned witnesses, now abundantly covering the walkways in their midnight business. 

And his hand remained completely empty. His Keyblade had not come. 

______________________________

____________________

__________

A defensive and shrill voice registered in the stairwell. Sora halted his descent.

“ _It’s none of your business!”_ It insisted. He recognized the tone as one of Yoshida’s female friends. Suzuki Mei. She stood out to him for her remarkably defined attitude problem.

“ _Actually, it is. There are stipulations in the dress code on dying your hair and I_ know _that’s not your natural color.”_

He recognized that voice as well. It was hard to mistake the assertive manner of speaking for anyone other than the class representative who ushered the morning lessons in. Sora was only just beginning to understand the expanse of responsibilities this post granted her… but hair color? The subject was entirely confusing to Sora and he felt the need to get a better look. He eased down a few more steps and peeked under the safety railing. Suzuki’s face was red with rage, her mouth a gap in scandalized disbelief.

“ _Excuse you. If you did any research before throwing your student council weight around you’d learn that my mom even signed a letter of verification to the school. God what an actual_ power trip!”

Inoue simply crossed her arms, impervious to the attacks. There was a smug smirk in her voice. “ _I guess I don’t have access to everything. Would it be ok if I gave your mother a call to ask about that letter?”_

There was a gasp. “ _What?_ No! _You are unbelievable!”_

This argument was getting hard to watch. The amount of vitriol flying around over something so petty almost made Sora sick. 

_“I’m simply making sure the rules are enforced,”_ Inoue replied calmly. 

_“How about you let the new kid in on the rules! He’s a walking dress code violation.”_

Sora jolted to attention an unconscious blush dusting his cheeks. It was true that he looked very different from everyone else, his brunette hair was the lightest shade in the classroom by far and his mess of spikes made him stand out even more… but he didn’t think he was violating some rule, that’s just how he looked. Actually, many of his peers seemed to like it at first. 

_“This isn’t about him. Suzuki-san. Though apparently he also had his parent call in with verification in the same way yours did. Jury’s out on if that’s just an adult lying for him too.”_

That really got Sora’s attention. His ‘parent’? That didn’t make any sense. This caught Suzuki off guard, and Sora stole a glimpse of her eyes narrowing in blistering hate. Her anger was more genuinely red than the shade of her hair. Inoue stiffened in preparation. Sora only just noticed the class rep holding her cellphone behind her, poised casually behind a proper power stance. 

Was she recording her?

“ _What are you playing at?”_ And suspicion made Suzuki step forward toward Inoue. Tension snapped tight, the rep parried herself back in defense which only enticed Suzuki more. The accused girl lit up and-- as though possessed-- snatched her hand toward Inoue in a fit of anger.

Sora felt his body move on his own. 

“Hey!” 

The barked escaped him and bounced around the space. That fire of discomfort that brewed under him watching this petty conflict took the reins and his stumbled into the girls’ vantage point. They whipped their heads to face him, both with expressions of distressed surprise.

The instinct moving him was foundational. It was only when he began responding to it that his body registered the profound lack of _helping people_ that his current situation had restricted him from.It was an honest rush in the second of motion it inspired… and then it was over.

There was a beat of silence that was far too long. Suzuki’s striking arm was clamped by Inoue’s defensive grab. She had been brute forcing her way to Inoue’s phone before the interruption. Perhaps convinced that she was in the most compromising state, Suzuki, backed off her. 

Gaze dancing between Sora and her interrogator, she abandoned the defense. She huffed in frustration and squared a threatening glare at Inoue. 

“Nobody’s gonna vote for you!” Suzuki shook her head and plowed into the door to the stairwell. They slammed with an echo. The day was saved, though Sora wasn’t sure if he saved the right girl or not.

“Vote? Is there a popularity contest coming up?” Sora brought up casually with a habitual scratch of his head. 

But Inoue was immediately concerned with her phone, she tapped at the device a couple of times before turning off the screen and letting it settle to her side. She inhaled sharply before jerking her head to Sora.

“How much did you hear?”

Sora hesitated, only because every question he had received since arriving here was a monumental task. He was refreshed to find the answer came so easily. 

“A lot.”

Inoue groaned and put a hand to her forehead, but said nothing.

“But if it’s any comfort...” He continued, feeling a sense of distress at her clear distress. “... I didn’t understand any of it.”

That made her square an incredulous glare. “You expect me to believe that?”

Sora blinked back, baffled by the hostility.

“...yeah…” He didn’t want his voice to be that small, but he was a little hurt. The twist of her brow under her sharp black bangs remained paused with her turning mental gears.

“...I just don’t get you at all.” She finally said. 

“I’m ...sorry?” He offered with uncertainty. Her nonsensical anger was starting to really tick him off. She gave a tired sigh that tossed her eyes into a flippant roll. 

“You better be.” She shot, looking at something interesting on her phone. 

That made something snap in Sora. It was the fullest feeling to have crossed his heart the past few days, next to the sallow brand of isolation. Like being graced with a high-performance vehicle, Sora felt the emotion wake through him. It constricted his chest and twisted his face.

“I’m sorry I think I just helped you right there?!” 

Inoue recoiled slightly, not expecting the sharp-tongued reaction from him. Sora didn’t have a track record for speaking up, he’d give her that. But even that was almost insulting. She shook it off quickly, matching his expression, nostrils flaring. 

“ _Actually_ , I had everything handled. Your interrupting screwed everything up!”

“‘Handled’? Is that what you call that?”

“I was getting a confession!” 

“You were getting into a fight!” Sora insisted, stepping just a tad closer. She was just under his height but she held her chin up proudly. Her long black hair was constricted into a high ponytail that emphasized her sense of order. While he could see her face grow red and the control of her expression was not beyond the twists of fury, she still clung to an air of righteousness. 

“That wasn’t a fight.” She said matter-of-factly. 

“It was going to be.”

“And you know that because you have a record of getting into them?”

The Keyblade sliced the Soldier clean in half while a writhing Dusk swooped into his blindspot. He enjoyed a brief kickback before recovering and landing a retaliatory strike at the animated cloth. With a determined yell, he barrelled at the mob swinging. 

“No.”

“Clearly.” That slice seemed like a wide-reaching reference. He recognized the judgemental narrow of her eyes from earlier that morning when she interrupted Yoshida’s loud indirect jabs before class. Sora shook off the cruelty and tried to turn things back onto her.

“What were you doing cornering her like that? You were just asking for her to take a swing at you.”

Inoue huffed a dry laugh.

“ _Please_ \-- things are never that dramatic.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And just how is this any of your business?” 

That was a question that would have stumped Sora had his heart still been dazed as it was moments before. Instead, it almost amused him because it was a crystal clear answer.

“You looked like you needed help. I made it my business.”

That perked up Inoue’s eyes, but it was more in genuine surprise than a softening disposition. She blinked a couple of times before settling into a snide accusation. “What, are you some kind of hero?” 

And that _was_ a question that stumped Sora. Mainly because the words ignited a slew of painfully familiar voices in his memory. 

_‘Junior heroes, always busy!’_

Something young and stubborn placed the resounding ‘yes’ on his tongue. He clamped his mouth shut in a gripping bath of uncertainty. It translated into wide-eyed silence.

Inoue had the gall to look disappointed. “ _Oh_.” 

What was that supposed to mean? A confused protest rumbled in his throat. She cut him off.

“I think I’m understanding you a little better now, Kakehashi-san.” Her anger was subsiding into something more precise and sharp.

“And if I can leave you with some advice; give the dumb act a rest and ground your delusion of heroics a little-- they don’t exist anywhere, much less Japan.”

Sora was speechless as she took a step back toward the stairwell exit, placing a hand on the door with her closing lines.

“Oh and don’t tell anyone about this failure of an interrogation, please. I have a reputation to maintain.”

And then Sora was alone.

The muted bell that indicated the end of the lunch period shimmered along the building. His food was untouched. 

-Loading...-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inoue ain't pleasant.
> 
> So many Japan institutions value uniformity which is why school dress codes are a heavily enforced thing. Some schools are wild, though I presume there's a loosening strictness if I'm being honest. One of those elements is very much hair color and style. There are even recorded instances of schools either asking for written verification from parents if a student is wearing their natural hair color (with like, baby pictures and stuff). Some extreme, probably isolated cases had schools requesting blond hair kids to dye their hair dark to prevent distraction and social feuding. Boys usually aren't allowed hair of a certain length and spiked or radical styles are prohibited. So while Sora's hair color is very much a natural shade and not entirely uncommon in Japan. His spikes are not. Poor kid can't help it, but at least the school seems to understand?
> 
> Why Inoue makes it her business to bust her classmates probably has to do with her skewed understanding of her student leadership role. Student Councils definitely have some sway and leadership among their peers but perhaps she is misjudging how much weight she can toss around. Though if I were Suzuki, I wouldn't respond with an attitude to student leadership regardless of who they are. They could still wreak some damage with the connections alone.
> 
> On a side note, it feels good to get some Sora sass back.


	4. Shibuya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little shorter than the rest because of the flow of the next chapter.

Sora stumbled out the school with poorly contained anxiety. The chance to just stretch his legs was reprieve enough, but he also felt the edging click of the clock move him through the shoe lockers and past the throng of students. As he had been since beginning classes here, Sora took a sharp right out of the school gates as opposed to the left where lied the nearest train station.

This alternative route was not an organic discovery. It added an entire half-hour to his commute to the apartment. Sora had the careful directions memorized now as he moved the school gradually into his backdrop. Two blocks right of the Soroku High, take a left at the convenience store, keep moving past the bluster of the towering reflective corporate monuments. His navy blazer stood out among the sea of black suits leaving the supposed business headquarters. 

If he pretended, the wealth of people in his sight could convince him of some kind of comforting normalcy. He could pretend that among these faces were ones he recognized. The truth nagged at him nevertheless. Alone in a crowded room… or _world._

_ <Try making some friends today <3> _

He royally screwed that advice up today. Sora brought the phone closer to his face as he walked on. “Anonymous” as he was forced to name, was a puzzling character in this entire episode. Despite the lack of identity, the person on the other side of the messages was an undeniable lifeline, guiding him through a world that was completely foreign and unforgiving. The exchange was imbalanced, and Sora genuinely found their intentional vagueness and question dodges to be particularly frustrating. But ultimately the free flow of advice, the explanations, and string-pulling proved Anonymous to be an invested ally. Sora couldn’t deny that and the connection was born. 

And in the same way he accepted the namelessness of the enigma, Sora followed the seemingly nonsensical detour at the request of that mystery. 

_ <We may get lucky! Just don’t be late.> _

That was the brand of response to his push for answers. Why he had to weave through pedestrian traffic deep in the heart of the business district was a prevailing mystery among many. It wore Sora’s patience. Lucky? Late for what? The past few days all he did was wait around some shop until Anon told him to 'go home'. _'Hurry up and wait'_ was an apt phrase. _'For absolutely nothing'_ was a great addition. 

Nevertheless, the vague timeframe Anonymous provided to this daily adventure moved his feet promptly. What if it was important?

_ <So how was school?> _

Sora frowned at the message that just snuck on screen. Sometimes it seemed like Anonymous asked things knowing the answer already. He thought of the morning skirmish from Yoshida and then of the episode in the stairwell. Was it really ok for him to step-in like that? Inoue’s anger and nasty scorn burned in his mind's eye. 

> _It was ok_.< Generic response. He was getting a little faster at the keyboard. But it took him a couple of minutes to finish his thought. > _I got more questions about Hawaii again <_

< _lol that doesn’t sound fun_ >

> _I don’t know what to say_ <

The form of communication didn’t capture the extent of his frustration on the matter. He didn’t know how to _lie_. He didn’t know a single thing about this _massive_ place. His cover-story was so flimsy and see-through and question-inspiring. He knew just enough from his upbringing and travels for things to make sense and then the next moment _nothing_ made sense. As he walked on, the towering skyscrapers were starting to draw his attention again.

Even in the context, his adventurous spirit stirred in awe. A reminder. What if he scaled those walls?

< _Relax~_ > His phone buzzed. < _You know…_ >

Sora found himself feeling the string of tense expectation. Yet another thing he didn’t like about this stilted communication. He wanted to hear a voice and see their face. At least written letters were nice in how they kind of _lingered_ with you… When was the last time someone actually looked him in the eye?

Her tears welled over, shining in the painfully beautiful sunset as everything around her faded like a shaky breath. And then, she too was gone. 

< _You should just tell the truth._ >

Sora didn’t really understand the words he just read. It felt like a fog over his senses. The messages rattled off at a slower pace, either distracted or hesitant.

< _Maybe ‘Hawaii’ is a lot like home?_ >

Home. 

Undulating waves along the white sand rushing the scampering feet of giggling children. The dull clatter of wooden swords atop the shimmering roar of the vast ocean. The flaky bark of an old curling fruit tree. A sky so blue and clear, it looked brand new. A serene seafoam green gaze, loyal and strong. Like the very land gravity pushed him toward. A slim hand in his. Conformed perfectly to the grooves and curves of his fingers like the ocean in a bottle.

> _Really?_ <

He seriously doubted that. 

Anonymous was silent for a good while as he entered a two-leveled pedestrian shopping park, looming concrete bridges like refined caves. White daylight cut shallow lines in artistic circular skylights. Stopping before a bench, beside a centerpiece of urban botany, he checked his phone once again. The smell of coffee and confections was his first indication that he had made it to his destination in good time… whatever that meant.

The growl of his stomach brought him out of his trance. He _had_ inadvertently skipped lunch to get chewed out by an ice queen. He turned to face the source of the smells and the unofficial landmark to his detour’s destination-- Tully's Coffee. A sleek little cafe that Anonymous selected as a training ground for Sora’s financial lesson on his second day. 

_ >I know how to buy things< _

_ <You’ve never used a credit card before.> _

For the record, that was easier than rustling through coins and bills for a quick bite to eat. But that was his first transaction in what was very clearly asserting itself as a transactional world. 

Before he could even get to the door of the cafe, Sora took note of the anomaly along the empty patio tables. An unattended plate of food. The meal consisted of an elaborately dressed club sandwich, a bag of chips, and a novelty glass bottle of soda. And not a soul was taking advantage of the outdoor seating, or nearby to claim it. But, Sora would have thought nothing of it had a banner of abnormally long receipt paper not been trailing in the breeze. Looking around for the owner in a quick once-over to the pedestrian area, he grabbed at the paper and squared it’s sloppily scribbled message to his vision.

 _‘You hungry Little King?’_ It read. 

His phone buzzed. Sora glanced down to read the one character message sent to him. 

<3

Subtle. He wasn’t sure how. He wasn’t sure why. But this was quickly becoming a commonplace phenomenon with Anonymous. Random gestures of kindness to the point of superfluousness. Directions and keys to a ready apartment, a stocked refrigerator, extensive explanations on cultural customs or pop culture. Anonymous was like some kind of guardian angel it seemed. Sure, the nickname they granted was weird, and the stranger knew a lot about him, but…it was his first connection here. That was special. 

Sora pulled out the chair, set his school bag on the ground and slammed a massive bite into the sandwich. He was starving.

* * *

Inside the cafe, a figure flipped their phone on the table face down. Tired, they leaned their chin in hand, eyes captivated by something outside the window. It was the image of the young, spiky-haired brunette fiddling mindlessly with the empty glass soda bottle, framed candidly as though his life was a story behind a tv screen. 

A smile. Loving. 

* * *

The ringtone chimed.

< _I have a place I’d like you to see > _

__________

____________________

______________________________

[4 days ago, continued]

His fist was trembling, outstretched and empty. 

It hadn’t come. His keyblade refused him.

That hadn’t happened since…

He remembered the cold stone under his empty palms as the footsteps of his friends grew faint among the muffled chorus of the rising falls. The sight of the wooden sword thrown to the ground was almost as physically painful as a hole in his chest. Next to him, a grumbling beast had shuffled with little compassion.

There were people around him. They walked on and on and paused to chat with each other or their devices, and some spared the strange boy on the concrete a second glance. What was once an empty world was now bustling with pedestrian life. It was… loud. The lights and people kept moving. The cars in the streets rolled into motion at the command of measured street lights. The signs that flashed simplistically from before were now shimmering with distracting colors and cinematic depictions. Massive font messages, shuffling numbers, smiling faces, inviting characters… he felt his attention drift toward a billboard like it was a shiny black hole.

“Are you okay?” A younger man hesitantly approached him. Everyone heard the screaming truck horn, everyone had seen the strangely dressed boy escape an unfortunate fate, only a few thought it worthy for their pause. 

“Should someone call an ambulance?” A woman off to the side thought aloud.

He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel _any_ of it.

The magic coursing in his veins like an electric, viscous syrup of endless possibilities. The metaphysical muscles that usher its release, taut and ready to power his physical ability or respond to his imagination. It wasn’t there. His limbs were desolate, to the point that it seemed like the fibers of strength in his arms shook and buckled in lonely independence. 

And his heart… 

His center, his core burned with intense anxiety, the organ erratically pulsing through the haze. Because it wasn’t there. His keyblade. The weapon that settled perfectly in his palm, that retreated within the confines of his heart like a sword in its sheath. At this point, Sora had little concept of what it was like before it appeared in his life… the void in its place sent alarms through his body. Like he was about to collapse right there in its harrowing absence.

His breath came in shallow puffs at this realization.

The world loomed around him, from the faint stars behind the sharply cut skyline to the lamp post and garbage bin along the concrete sidewalk where a couple of witnesses posted along with the tide of nightlife walkers, some inching away with fading interest. 

“I think he’s in shock.”

“You think? He was almost plowed over!”

“ _Oi_ _!_ ” Sora’s wide eyes focused on the unremarkable bystander with a sharp, battle-honed jerk. They leaned forward, to better square down to Sora’s form--still on his knees. “You need a hospital kid?”

Befuddled Sora shook his head to clear the daze. 

“Where am I?” The question flew out of his mouth urgently. The phone-thing in his hand had answers but _people_ … people were real. 

The stranger looked at his companion beside him, an observing bystander also rose a brow. 

“ _Uh…._ Shibuya.”

“Are you okay?”

_Shibuya…. Shibuya..._

The name struck a familiar chord. Sora tucked his chin down as he scanned his memories.

“Did you hit your head?” Some of the strangers were growing bored. Some more interested.

_‘See you in Shibuya.’_

Like a firework, Sora gasped in realization and jumped to his feet. 

“ _Neku_!” That gut-twisting anxiety untangled with a single rippling bubble of excited laughter.

The pedestrians giving him attention recoiled at the sudden, bombastic motion. 

“ _Neko?_ ” A woman questioned in attempted discretion with her companion. Sora keyed into her faint misunderstanding with a chuckle.

“No no, Ne- _ku._ Sa… Sa… Sakuraba! Sakuraba Neku! This is his wor-- _uh…_ I mean… he _lives_ here.”

Their eyes shifted uncomfortably and they inched closer to the flow of traffic. Sora’s heart filled with anticipation. This was Shibuya. _The_ Shibuya. He had friends here. He wasn’t alone. The image of Neku and his Riku-like smile brought an almost overwhelming fondness. A symptom of drought. 

He didn’t know what to expect… but his luck at finding himself on the plane of allies was enough to power him for days. Another pedestrian left.

Sora squared in on the closest couple to approach him. The young man had a strained expression for some reason. Tension crawled up his neck and the woman with him pulled at his arm. 

“Do you know him?” Sora pushed, eagerness in his voice. The step he took forward was unconscious and they responded in the reverse.

The young man gave a silent confirmation to his companion. And then followed up with a frazzled bow. He spoke very fast.

“No no I don’t-- _uh--_ It seems that you’re ok so I have to get going now. Sorry.”

And with that, the final witness to his near-death by truck collision had left the scene. The hopeful smile still lingered on Sora’s face as he once again took in the volume of people around him. Their forms shuffled like a rippling stream blending into the background. It was… amazing really. Probably the most people he’d ever seen in one place. He dared to taste the wonder of the metropolitan scenery, even if just to balm the worrying emptiness within him with mindless distraction. He could find someone. He could fix this perplexing, magic-less problem. He could go home. 

Sora took a step forward into the foot traffic. 

Shibuya… was large. It might take a while.

______________________________

____________________

__________

-Loading...- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are very fun to write because putting Sora in such a strange and unforgiving world, that isn't bound by the contrivances of fiction... is a very abstract thing to depict. He's very much a foreigner but in more ways than we can comprehend. It's challenging in that right because I have to be logical with what Sora might do alongside a mundane average population. 
> 
> I've been moving so my work on the next batch of chapters is stunted but I have been getting ideas. I can't wait to get the ball rolling, it's gonna be a little like juggling though. Next chapter is the last of the premade batch but it's my favorite yet. Let me know what you think! I have to resist responding because I tend to gab on and on about my own story. But I am powered by your comments and kudos~


	5. Demolition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am enjoying a lot of inspiration lately. You have at least two more chapters prewritten until I dive into my new teaching job and potentially succumb to my exhaustion. Wish me luck people. First-year music teacher right here.

_< I have a place I’d like you to see>_

The sky was starting to take on a pinkish hue as Sora stepped off the bus. In his hand was the glass bottle from his meal, the bottom rimmed with a stubborn trim of cola. He mindlessly tapped his nails along the surface to a satisfying click. With his other hand, he thumbed the screen of his phone intently, a little more than tempted to explore the in-depth map that Anon had sent him.

The clock along the top border of the screen ticked in an uncertain way. He was assured that as long as he left promptly he’d be okay in getting to the apartment before fear of consequence. 

But practically all concerns vanished when the sound of crashing waves met his ears. 

His heart groaned in his chest. Sora darted his eyes around the bus stop in vain, pleased by the less crowded suburban emptiness of the street, but desperate for the unmissable sight. He followed his nose, the air drenched in the sharp splash of salt. Memories flooded in. Festivals on the pier, races on the beach, sunsets on the Paopu tree. Sora’s breaking run echoed his childhood manner of play and he darted past the street and through the entrance of the coastal park. All the while the glass bottle tucked into his excited vice grip. The groves of the crafted logo imprinted along his palm. 

He hit a metal railing designed to prevent park going pedestrians from falling into the coast, the vast ocean consuming his gaze with open arms. 

Tokyo Bay shimmered like a million diamonds in the dying light. Pinks and oranges crashed into the line of water next to starkly cast purple shadows. Along that endless horizon was an aberrant cut of the city skyline, geometric and sharp. The burning orange sun crept closer to the skyscraper stencils. 

If he squinted, he could pretend that was another world in view. The joy of his greatest imaginations. The most he could have ever hoped for when it was just him, Riku, Kairi, and a shabby raft. 

_‘I just can’t wait. Once we set sail, it’ll be great.’_

The words rang bittersweet. And without warning his vision blurred, hot pressure growing behind his eyes. 

_What if…_

Sora hurled a forceful breath, blinking the hypotheticals away. Those never did him any good. No regrets. He didn’t hesitate. Even as the unnatural feeling wrapped around his entire being like a sick sense of vertigo he stood strong. Resolute was his expression as he suppressed the bone-chilling shivers while upon the beautiful ruins of an ancient city-turned-battleground. Staring down that arrogant source of torment, Sora had pushed a lesson he would soon live. A display of fearless justice as fate breathed down his neck. A show of righteousness in hypocritical fashion.

See, he might have been tempted to reset the world if it meant avoiding fate too. 

And he smiled false reassurance to his friends as panic-inducing alarms blared their last protest-- an invisible pressure already weakening around his form. It was as though gravity would turn off any second and he’d suddenly unlatch from the earth. At the same time, it felt like falling. Clinging desperately through a fog as he plummeted. Slipping away from his world like waking up from a dream.

He knew what saving her would do to him. 

Sora hopped the railing, landing firmly on the gravel of the short margin of land between path and sea. He sat on a larger retaining rock as he pulled his school bag off his shoulder, flipping it open in one motion after setting the glass bottle to the side.

A short shuffle of papers later and Sora took in the object of his search-- a haphazardly folded square of notebook paper. He opened the paper to a mess of his pencil-drawn chicken-scratch.

He knew the contents well. Wads of rejected drafts of this letter littered his desk at the apartment. Some more self-piteous than others. Most of them told confident lies. He could not profess himself to the level of prose as Kairi, but the heart had a way of saying the right thing. 

Sora rinsed the soda bottle in the surprisingly murky coast water and gave it a couple of violent shakes to wring it dry. It was a smaller vessel than the wine bottles found at home but in its folded incarnation, the paper slotted into the bottle with little protest. 

For a moment he stared at the message in a bottle. He wondered what went through Kairi’s mind as she so blindly sent one his way. Did she let the thorn of doubt fester in her gut as he did? Did the hopeless subtext of a ‘ _message in a bottle_ ’ not deter her from making a perfect miracle occur? He remembered how her words on his lips filled him with such impossible hope that it had cut the air in front of him. While his heart settled in a timeless margin of darkness, her words saved him. _She_ saved him. 

Was he allowed to ask again? Did it work that way?

He widened the stance of his feet and drew a long breath. The gentle waves along a smooth beach were the perfect starting point for a bottle’s journey, but this mess of rocks and coastline offered little peace for Sora to attempt the same. So in the spirit of blind leaps, Sora curled his arm back and chucked the bottle into the Bay. It crashed onto the water with an unceremonious _plop_ and bobbed to the surface. The distance thrown had embarrassed Sora to no recent surprise, but the freedom from the heavy letter made his heart sing. 

Sora let himself feel the comforts of faith, watching the current push at the bottle. _They_ were safe and happy. _They_ were strong and brilliant. It’d reach them. He’d see them again. 

Everything would work out in the end. 

< _Isn’t it nice?_ > Anonymous’s message broke the serene reverie. Sora couldn’t help but smile softly. This mysterious stranger had come to his aid at every turn these past few days. Despite not being there, they did what they could. While the cold sense of loneliness prevailed, his surviving light was through a phone screen. 

> _Thank you_ <

He responded back, and he wished he could have provided more to his words than cold text. In this world of mundane cruelties, he didn’t know what he’d do without this companion. 

< _I’m so proud of you_.> The text bubble rattled back. 

Proud? Anon didn’t make sense a lot of the time, but… the message made Sora’s chest swell with warmth. 

The last of the orange sunset light was fading as Sora vaulted back over the railing. Where once gravity was his plaything, the action required more effort than he ever anticipated and punctuated reality. He glanced once more at the hour on his phone. There was a short while before he’d run into bus troubles. It was better he left now. 

Sora gave one last look at the city-marred ocean horizon. It really paled in comparison to home. It wasn’t fair of him to place a boundless ocean next to a self-contained bay, but Tokyo somehow seemed smaller than any island settlement from this perspective. Yet, cities were exciting. So many people. So many hearts lived and loved here. It was beautiful really. Worthy of some regard or gratitude...

But Sora couldn’t help the poisonous resentment simmer underneath him. It fueled his hope. Made his heart yearn for home all the greater. This place wasn’t enough. And that was okay. 

And before he could manage that horrible bitterness brewing within him, he caught sight of the metal sign right by the railing he just leaped over. It was almost too dark to read. In this case, the darkness would have been a welcome service because he could even make out the basic illustration under its bold text.

_'No littering. Violators will be fined.'_

The picture of a bottle floating in cartoonish waves was almost hilarious.

__________

____________________

______________________________

[4 days ago, continued]

“E-Excuse me!”

Sora pushed himself before another group of strangers in the bustling shopping district. Their surprise overrode the irritation long enough for him to continue. 

“Do you know where I can find _Neku--_ ah, someone. I’m looking for someone.”

Their flustered discomfort was a speechless phenomenon. They chose to ignore him with a forceful push. Determined, Sora moved to the next target. It’d take several more disappointments for him to change the strategy.

It was foolish to ask for specifics in this boundless sea of people yet It hadn’t stopped Sora’s occasional name drop in this crowd. He even asked about Rhyme and Joshua though that received even stranger looks. But if he could find them, his friends from the dream, he’d get answers. Unfortunately, this method of random sampling forced him to cross the street to other crowds of pedestrians as immediate neighbors would avoid his path in anticipation. 

A younger man gave a sneer before turning to his friends.

“Cosplay?”

They laughed.

“It looks really good!” One of them called back and they moved on. 

“I’m sorry! I don’t know how to help you.” Was the nicest response he could get from the crowd.

“Are they missing? Take it to the police.” Another person clapped back in a quick exchange. That was probably the greatest lead yet and Sora beamed a smile. It even curled the stranger’s lips like a contagion.

“Thank you!” Sora didn’t know how to get a hold of the police here. The Island had a law enforcement chief they reported to but there was little procedure for emergencies beside rallying the neighbors and town help. It’s not like there were gummiphones. In other worlds, it was never a need that cropped up. _He_ was an enforcer most of the time.

So he just asked. 

It was a middle-aged lady that wore a look of alarm the moment he asked. “C-call the police? What’s wrong? Do you need a phone?”

Her urgency surprised him and she said it in a loud way that turned heads. Some folks stopped in curiosity yet again. 

“Ah no, nothing’s _wrong_ ma’am… I’m just looking for someone.” Sora tried to pacify with a sheepish scratch of his head. This turned the woman’s concern into a guarded scowl at the drop of a coin. 

“Looking for someone? Are they your parents? It’s awful late for someone your age to be out on a school night… and wearing _that_.”

Sora gave a self-conscious tug at his plaid lapel with a pout. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can help you… but if you’re looking to call the police you know the number.” And she walked away, taking the rug out from under him.

“Hey wait!” He called but she ignored him. Defeated, Sora’s reaching hand slackened. “I _don’t_ know the number _._ ”

He pulled out his phone to see that there was that phone number rolling across a preview bar on the screen with the phrase “24 messages” on it. It took him a moment to follow the directions of the plain blue background, swiping it awake and clicking on the mail app. When the log finally popped up, Sora was surprised to see the alert that spared him a set of tire track scars. 

_ <Now!> _

_ <That was close! Glad you’re okay.> _

There were several minutes from this message to the next.

_ <I wish you’d check your phone.> _

A little longer. 

< _Hey_ >

….

< _Hey_ >

….

<(｀^´)>

Was that supposed to be a face?

< _Hey_ >

_< How are you not hearing your notification right now?>_

< _Hey_ >

<(ノಠ益ಠ)ノ>

There were quite a few of these until...

< _ **WRONG**!> _

_ < **SHIBUYA**!_>

Sora’s brow curled. Something cold slid into his gut.

_ <I’m here to help you out if you’d just check your phone!> _

_ <So not cool...> _

_ <Just let me know when you need help.> _

The last message was 15 minutes ago. Sora pursed his lips with uncertainty. He then whipped his head up for inspiration only to lock eyes with the woman from earlier… speaking to a uniformed officer in the distance by what appeared to be a police car. 

The sight of the officer walking toward him shocked his system with an irrational desire to _run._

He could ask them to help him find his friends right?

_WRONG!_

He glanced at the message in the long chain and a single word flew across his own keyboard in a split-second decision. Send.

> _help_ <

The officer’s posture wasn’t very inviting. In fact, he was postured like he was about to bust a bunch of rowdy kids. Battle instincts told him this wasn’t going to help. He didn’t do anything wrong right? He was just asking questions… right?

His stomach clenched as the officer casually strolled before him. 

“Hey kid, is everything okay here?” The substance of the words was almost comforting, but the officer said it in a rhetorical way like he knew the answer.

World travel 101 was to defer to the government of the land unless it’s Trouble. Confrontation was the last thing Sora needed. He gave a nervous chuckle and tried to look him in the eyes once again. 

“Yes, sir…”

He gave him a once over. “What school do you go to?”

“School?” Sora’s voice cracked. The befuddlement must have answered the question.

“Work, then?”

Sora shook his head. The officer sighed.

“You are about 10 minutes from hitting the unattended youth curfew, your parents nearby?”

Dumbfounded and a little wide-eyed, Sora shook his head. 

“Are you on your way home?”

Sora was about to choke on his own silence. He just didn’t know what to say. This was when Donald or Goofy would bust him out. The officer seemed to have waning patience, but the intensity was starting to loosen at the passive demeanor Sora was putting on. But the non-answer pressed on. He needed to… find...

_WRONG!_

“ _I’m looking for someone!”_ He said finally. 

The officer blinked. “Your parents?”

Another shake of the head. “A friend.” And suddenly Sora found his determination clamping down despite the pulsing doubt. Neku, Joshua…. They had to be here.

He needed them to be here. 

The officer ran a hand through his hair. “Look, kid. There’s a curfew, if you want, I can give you a lift to your home.”

“I need to know how I can find him! His name is Sakuraba Neku, sir.” The insistence seemed to summon back the veil of tension that the officer held before. It was chilling.

“You _need_ to go home. File a complaint in the morning if you are so worried. Should I give you a ride?”

The answer was insufficient and the rest left him cornered. Home? There was no going home anymore. The pressure was almost suffocating as he waited for an answer. The striking reality of having absolutely nowhere to go was crashing down hard. What was he going to do? A panic rose in Sora’s lungs. 

“ _Please,_ I need to find my friend.” He couldn’t hide the desperation in his voice. Meanwhile, the text of that message burned into his eyes. They had to be here. He needed to find them. 

WRONG! SHIBUYA!

The shift in Sora’s demeanor gave the officer pause. 

“Stay put a second.” He ordered and took a step back before grabbing at a radio on his hip. 

“Yamoto to Dispatch, there’s an unattended minor; male, 15-ish--appears to be in some kind of character cosplay. Gonna give him an escort.”

The radio gave a hiss before responding. _“Copy. Proceed.”_

Sora’s phone made a sound and it occurred to him that he had been hearing it all through his street questionnaire. He didn’t make the same mistake. 

< _Turn around and run down the street away from the square. Don’t stop._ >

“Alright kid. Can I get your name?” The police officer said stepping forward from his aside. 

Sora looked up from the screen. 

And broke into a sprint.

“Hey! Get back here!” He shouted after him. But Sora didn’t turn around. 

______________________________

____________________

__________

There was a package at the apartment doorstep as Sora pulled himself up the steps. No sender address-- it was a cardboard box a little smaller than a plate, sealed in a strip of packing tape. The lightweight object inside slid to the far end as he picked it up. 

A thrill of caution stowed away with his instinctive curiosity. 

Sora shuffled in his pocket for the keys. He pinched one of the rattling metal pieces from the ring with a grimace. It fumbled around the lock before slotting along the grooves. He turned it around awkwardly, the device demanding more from him than he could ever hope to remember. 

He kept the key out as he flipped the light on. Its jagged teeth gnashed at the tape of the package soon after. Brutish, dull sawing was as effective as any bladeless clobbering. Mundane resourcefulness was an inherent feature to the simple machine it seemed. The thought brought a bitter smile… that promptly dropped as he peeled away the lid.

Sora picked up the contents of the package with both hands. Despite his naivete with most technological gadgets, this one was hard to mistake. Hiro Hamada explained its use while rustling around his sci-fi garage of gizmos. In the painful bank of Roxas’s digital memories were evenings with Pence sitting around a TV screen tossing one of these around in the throes of competition. 

He thumbed a circle along the smooth plastic of its handle. And he swallowed his thoughts down thickly. A cumbersomely thick cord uncoiled. The buttons gave a faint click and the joysticks bowed as he hesitantly ran his fingertips along its face. 

His expression was level. _Intentional_. Neutral. Average. _Intentional_. Forced. Struggling. Bursting.

Petrified. 

The next breath he took was fruitless. Brambles of ice jolted through his veins and his stomach gave a lurch. The gift was shaking in his hand. Sora clapped a hand across his mouth as a wave of nausea gave a violent threat. The air stopped completely. His heart pounded in his ears. There was a pained moan that felt like a cry caught in his suffocating throat. 

The game controller clattered along the floor of the apartment. 

__________

____________________

______________________________

Arms pumped, lashing through the air. Feet pushed against the sidewalk. 

Pedestrians darted out of his way and the large Shibuya square narrowed into metropolitan streets. Claws of strain slashed down his blurring legs. Needles prickled along his lungs.

He ran harder. Beating the pavement with his escape, too afraid to check for pursuit. Shops flew past him. Street lights strobed in a lulling pattern. The traffic thinned. It was quieter. Only the ripping slam of his soles on the concrete echoed in the ambiance. 

And gravity had never felt more heavy.

That’s when he failed to swing his shoe high enough. Sora felt a stomach pulling yank and he was flying through the air, the sidewalk careening his way at a strange angle. He gave a startled howl and his face planted on the street, his hands barely breaking the brunt of it. The phone slid across the concrete.

Sora grunted at his scrambled brains and rattling bones, meanwhile, his lungs heaved the air desperately. Even his breathing tripped as a cough barged out of him in a relentless stream. Insult to injury. 

The screen of his phone was a beacon. 

< _Will you be okay?_ > It said. 

Sora didn’t have the mind to feel gratitude or embarrassment at that moment as he reached for the device. He couldn’t comprehend how this absent messenger could tell that he just wiped out from his own sudden bout of clumsiness. He couldn’t wrap his head around how hard that escape was. He couldn’t focus. There was a distracting buzz in this haze of pain and adrenaline. Everything felt sharp. So sharp and heavy and loud and

_Real_

Sora got to his feet and his hand tracked across his face. There was a liquid smear along his fingers and chin. The orange streetlights reflected in a handful of red blood. 

_Will you be okay?_

Motion pulled at the corner of his vision. It was his reflection in a storefront window. Call it vanity, but his own familiar face was a pleasing comfort. He could find a friend in his features, but the stream of blood from his nose was a disturbing sight of vandalism. He took a step closer. 

And a phantom image seeped in from behind the glass. A large advertisement hung in the dark display of some kind of entertainment store. The closer he got, the clearer the image became through the thick window. A cardboard cut-out display it seemed...

Recognition.

Sora blinked. 

**_What a tragedy it is._ **

The advertisement’s illustration lined into focus, faintly tracing the dark curves of his lamplight cast shadow. Perfectly.

**_To tarnish purity._ **

A confident smirk made of pencil and printer ink cut through his blood marred reflection. Static, stylized eyes bore into him. He-- _It_ lounged within a chair like an arrogant king. 

**_To disturb the still waters._ **

Elaborate, stylistic text, silver and angular, hung over the stagnant depiction of royalty. How Sora could break his gaze from the image to read the title was beyond comprehension.

**_To tear down those beautiful walls._ **

_‘Kingdom Hearts’_

______________________________

____________________

__________

-X Continue…?-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Advertisement artwork in the illustration is credit to Tetsuya Nomura's 15th-anniversary commemoration art. Thank you KHInsider for the assets.
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time let me know what you think. I can't begin to tell you how motivating it is. Please look forward to what I have to come.


	6. -Interlude-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments on the previous chapter! Consider yourself past the tutorial.

He was dreaming. Well… dreaming _again_. 

Xigbar didn’t care much for dreams. 

The notion buzzed like a mosquito in his ear. It accompanied his every day, but now it was impossible to ignore. A sepia-tone impression. Unfocused in places, momentary lapses of time and space. The world was a conjuring of his mind’s eye of course. Without real, tangible functions at work, this was just a shoddy jerry-rig job by his brain. And boy did it show. 

He could only describe it as a crystalline cave. Jagged spikes of multifaceted purple and blue curled like a frozen tidal wave. The ground beneath his feet had a similar, rock-like texture, but resembled more a toddler’s art project than water. Thick shapes of colored glass gummed together to make the earth at his feet. Countless in number and shade. In occasional points, stone pillars, like roman pedestals, rose from the junk like an ambitious tower only to drip crumbling stone in discontinuation. This cave, though dark, had a substantial light at the end of the tunnel. A beacon progressing him to the next stage...

Now if he was remembering correctly, he had in fact _not_ died at the hands of Sora. He had made a point to _fake_ his death. He simply, let the slivering piece of Old Coot Darkness seep from his vessel, bidding its slimy occupancy farewell as it carried on with the plot. Yep, no fading or vanishing. Just smoke and mirrors. Maybe he went a little overboard. Tossing himself backward off of the circuit board was a little dark for the kids.

 _Eh_ , a primer for what’s to come. 

The point was, there shouldn’t be any ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ or ‘pearly gates’ and what-not waiting for him… for a _multitude_ of reasons. And why the garbage walkway? Frustration was an old friend but man did he need a break from the nonsense. This was why Xigbar didn’t care for dreams.

His reflection’s profile shimmered in the fractals of crystal, like a funhouse. His appearance was that of Braig. A little beat-up around the edges and older than that first and final meeting with the kid over 10 years prior. The darkness scar on his cheek was a fun touch now that hindsight removed the infuriating pain and vanity from the equation. And without it, the eye-patch wouldn’t be a thing now would it?

Xigbar really liked the eye-patch. He honestly, really liked this _form_. Perhaps that’s why the dream manifested this body as opposed to his original. That, and he wasn’t sure he remembered what he used to look like. So many faces…

Well due to the rarity of such conscious dreaming he thought it best to carry on without trepidation. The light from the tunnel unfolded into a remarkably endless space, drenched in beaming incandescents. The sky was a massive glass dome, arching an elaborate and abstract stained glass construction around a flowering, sun-like centerpiece. The cave dropped off into a sprawling pit of black void. 

It was like standing on the night sky. Countless Heart Stations poked their precious light on this black sea in an intermittent fashion. Had they been smaller, he would have felt the temptation to skip along them like stones in a river. Despite this sea of hearts, one station stood high above the rest. It was a stone spire that dangled glass pathways from its platform. One path squared itself before Xigbar. He began the climb.

The station was as elaborate as one might suspect with its towering status, but you probably couldn’t tell because it, like the cave-like entrance, was completely trashed. Stray glass shards positively _littered_ the platform, obscuring the intended illustration. They were assembled in haphazard piles, some of like colors (what an improvement…). Like the trail from a crime scene, the glass led toward the center of the station where lie the back of a crystal throne. 

That, unexpectedly, _swiveled_ on its axis.

Xigbar’s eyes widened in the recognition.

“ _I presume you’re wondering why I summoned you this evening_?” 

The voice bubbled with theatrical and practiced mirth. The throne turned to reveal a cloaked figure lounging cross-legged, his black-gloved hands woven together patiently. Silence followed. 

Xigbar couldn’t order his thoughts. That voice, the mannerisms. It… _It was Him._ His chest flared with an impossible emotion. Baffled excitement. Elation. Frantic desperation. He felt like a kid again, holding No Name reverently, staring into that blue eye and wishing for a face around its pupil. He was here. He was right in front of him. It was… unbelievable.

A dream.

The Master of Masters suddenly slumped forward in his chair, groaning loudly in defeat. 

“ _Come on!”_

His signature hand gesticulations snapped into full force. “All this time and I’m still not worthy of a little-- ‘ _oh!’--_ and --’ _whaa?’?_ \-- You wound me!”

Confusion blistered through Xigbar and like it had the young apprentice centuries ago, he found his response to be identical. Wide-eyed, speechless. Frazzled and desperate. It was overcoming. 

“A-Ah… Sorry?”

Was he blubbering? The Master exploded into a sudden cackle that made Xigbar jump. 

“ _Oh man!_ It’s been how long for you? You haven’t changed at all, little one!”

_Little?_

Xigbar-- no _Luxu_ looked at his Master. The man he sacrificed so much for. The man who he spent ages fighting to bring back. And here he was. Right in front of him. Defying every prophecy and calculated ambition. 

“Master…” He was breathless. “How?”

The Master gave a couple of claps. “I’m glad you asked!-- as you already can tell this is _a dream_! You’re asleep catching a few victory “z’s ” and I thought I’d pop you on over here to give you a little _congrats_.”

Xigbar found himself scanning the stained glass workshop around the Master’s lounging chair and the magnificent domed sky. He must have had a face on. The Master gleefully continued. 

“‘Here’ of course is--” He spared himself a dramatic pause to place his arms in a grand presenting gesture, “--my ‘ _Brain Storm!’_ Do you like the name? ‘Mind Palace’ was taken and I’m not getting into legal trouble no matter who I’ve got on my side.”

There was another pause. The Master waited eagerly for a response.

Xigbar shifted uncomfortably. This entire reunion was not what he expected, but perhaps the ages did a number on his memory of the eccentric man. “It’s… nice.”

" _Always so agreeable._ I knew I gave you the right role."

His role. Pass down the blade. Watch. See to the end. Stay out of sight. Wait for his return…

“You’ve done well.” The Master’s voice was calmer. Controlled, but pleased. Xigbar swallowed down the roar of emotion into his gut. Swelling, bulbous pride. Excitement and joy like a live wire. How he dreamed of those words from the Master… he was... _still_ dreaming them. 

“It’s finished. My role.” It was faint but a vulnerable smile graced the hardened gruffness of Braig’s scarred face. Relief. He had finished and he was witnessing the fruits of his labor.

“Yeah, I said that.--You do realize I’m not actually _back_ yet?”

This sobered the apprentice and his unconscious smile dropped. The Master rose from his throne with a stretch. 

Standing before him revealed that this body of his now towered over his Master by a few inches. That along with the gruff look and mean glare scratched a vain itch in Luxu. His original body wasn’t nearly this effective at asserting himself. Though, at this moment he might as well have been a child. 

“There, there.” The Master said flippantly taking a few steps to his left towards a pile of decorative glass. “That’s what we are here to talk about.” He picked up a single book that Xigbar just noticed was resting atop the pile. 

“Cause see, we kinda hit peak prediction a while ago, not that _you'd_ know the details. So…”

He fingered mindlessly through the pages before clapping the book shut. Xigbar got a better look at the cover this time. It was in fact the Book of Prophecies. 1st edition, Author copy. 

Which the Master proceeded to toss into the air over his back. Xigbar watched in horror as the book fell off the heart station platform and into the black void. 

“That’s old news now. Shame you never got to read it, but believe me-- you missed nothing.”

“What… happens next?” ...Now that everything was finished.

The question poured out of him slowly. He was so used to being the smartest one in the room by far. That was the furthest description now and every word felt bumbling before the Master. 

“ _I dunno~_ I haven’t figured it out yet.” He turned his back to his apprentice, folding his hands behind himself in a characteristic pose. His postured silhouette inspired the image of a contemplative and serene individual. 

“Well, I mean I have a _plan_ of course.” He turned around to add. “ _I just-_ \- okay, _let’s get down to business._ ”

Did he sing that last phrase? The Master suddenly pressed forward, taking quick strides across the platform. “Did you bring the box?” 

Bring the box? This was a _dream_. He had _slept_ by the box while waiting around. It wasn’t _here--_

“Good!” 

And Xigbar was surprised as the Master crouched and curled around his legs, landing a gloved hand smack on the surface of the large box in question. He hadn’t noticed its presence behind his feet until now. Xigbar quickly spun around and positioned himself on the other side. And much like when he first laid eyes on the black box, he assisted his Master in pushing it along the ground, more squared to their conversation. It was a heavy thing, and the metal corner guards dragged along the glass with a high pitched screech. 

“So--” The Master began between pulls casual conversation in his tone. Sure the box was heavy but not impossible. If forced and with a good grip, Xigbar could carry the thing for a bit. “--what did you think of its contents?”

Xigbar stopped pushing and straightened himself in confusion. “What? I didn’t open the box. You told me not to.”

The Master straightened himself up just as fast. “You mean you didn’t even _try_?”

“No! You told me what was in it already. Why would I look?” His defense came out desperately. For a moment he felt like he had failed some massive reverse-psychological test. 

The Master crossed his arms and swayed a little. “Oh, no reason. I was just convinced you would be overcome with your sense of curiosity and have a peek anyway. I mean it’s what _I_ would have done and you’ve clearly been taking notes from your Master.”

Xigbar was almost close to a flush of embarrassment. Why did his Master have to be so… so… _frank_ about his observations?

“I just…”

“No need to explain yourself. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery. I’m touched, really.”

The Master shifted his tone and placed his hands on his student’s broad shoulders. 

“You’ve worked so hard for me. Lived countless lifetimes. Undergone plenty of embarrassments and defeats. And you did everything I asked. So as thanks-- _I’m gonna let you open the box_.”

Luxu, currently basking in a sudden but pleasant shower of praise did not expect that permission. 

“Really?”

He had spent years earnestly abstaining from opening the box, satisfied with the memory of his Master’s answer in his ear. No matter how… confusing that answer was. 

“Really really.” He assured.

And if he was honest he didn’t actually care about seeing the famed contents, it was the trust he was given that meant more. For centuries, the _why_ danced around his head and he just assumed it was a matter of his Master’s utmost confidential plans. His novice could not be trusted to open the box back then… but now he could.

Luxu got on his knees before the clasps. His hands were shaking. Did he… even want to see it? 

And throw away the Master’s trust like it was nothing?

He thumbed one of the clasps along the lid. They were artistic and jagged spears of metal across the lid accented with a stark red. There were 13 across the entire thing, 7 in the front and 3 on either side. Excessive as it might seem, the number was fitting. He curled his fingers under the largest clasp. 

And he gave a sharp tug.

It didn’t budge. 

Luxu’s brow furrowed. He examined the box a little more closely, even though he stared at the thing for ages and knew it like the back of his own hand… that actually wasn’t an apt phrase considering. The clasps were immobile as though bound to the foundation of the box itself. He tried again, this time with a different latch. 

He tried each one. Nothing moved. Confusion and irritation trembled along his mind. He attempted to latch his fingers under the lid itself and pull. There was a strange sound above him. 

The Master’s attempt at containing his laughter failed. He exploded into a gut-rending cackle. 

“Oh my gosh!” He howled between giggles. “I just can’t believe you never tried to open it. You didn’t think I’d just leave it vulnerable or something? You are so precious. So _so_ precious.”

Xigbar stamped down his irritation. He was a patient man, he had proved that much… 

“Do I need my keyblade?” He hissed under gritted teeth. No Name, if he was correct it’d probably land somewhere in the Graveyard after this whole mess. 

The Master’s laughs were now spells of chuckles. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t try. Thing’s got no lock see?”

“Were you... just saying that for my reaction?”

“Oh not at all.” The Master straightened himself up from his contorted jubilance. He must have expelled all of his humor in that bought because it was the calmest his voice had become. “That’s actually your next task-- or _role._ ”

Xigbar raised a brow at that.

“My return is upon you. Wake up your fellow apprentices and set out to open the black box you’ve so carefully hidden. When that happens, you will find me.”

His fellow apprentices? The Foretellers were long gone… unless he expected him to… a thrill rang down his spine. But…

“How do I open it?”

He couldn’t see his Master’s face… but he knew he was smiling.

“The term ‘Black Box’… where I’m from-- has a lot of connotations… but mainly they are known for being… _virtually_ _indestructible_. And that’s because they serve a very important role: They protect precious data in the case of pure and utter destruction. Most of the time, they are only opened in the wake of that disaster.”

The Master took a seat on the box in question and gave it a mindless stroke. His tone was low. So even and calculated... like it had its own gravity. He practically felt the words etch themselves into his heart like a glowing spike of metal. It was a force of nature.

It was… terrifying.

“I designed this box to be the same way. Destabilize the realms and the box will open. Leverage that _unchained_ instability with the power of your being and wreak havoc… I’ll be there eventually to pick up the pieces.”

Luxu fell to his knees. The glorious purpose that was leaving him before was now being refilled right before his eyes. It was a soothing balm. It was a quenched thirst. There was no memory of hunger. There was nothing like this. He felt alive.

He felt _real_.

“Yes, Master.” He breathed. “It will be done.”

The Master was silent for a moment. Something about his posture seemed disappointed.

“I know it will.”

_Click_. 

Upon the lid of the box, one of the thirteen latches shot out by the Master’s coat.

“It’s already begun. The realm has lost something... completely irreplaceable. It’s reeling. You need to strike while it is weak.” With a gloved finger, the Master snapped.

The piles of glass started to vibrate. All around him the rock chinked together, making shimmering music with a swell of foreboding happening. 

It dawned on him that the Master was wrapping up the meeting. Luxu seized at the moment, a blanket thought of refusal echoing in his mind. 

“Wait! Will we be able to speak again?”

The Master stood up. “Unfortunately, young one, this will be the last you see of me… at least… until that promised day. But… keep your keyblade drawn. I’ll certainly be watching.”

“But--” Luxu pushed, but then stopped himself. He bowed his head. Below his feet was the image of a goat. The caulking around its gray glass was expanding at his feet. His insignia was swallowing him whole. “I won’t let you down.”

“May your heart…” The Master began, watching his sixth apprentice go down into the void of waking like one watches their child through a rising elevator. “...on second thought, that’s kinda useless for you.”

And everything was black.

* * *

Xigbar woke up gasping. He turned his head to see the black box with a latch undone. 

A sneering grin split across his face. Pure satisfaction. 

‘ _Hope_ ’ indeed. 

-Loading...-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot train ahoy.
> 
> Okay, so this chapter was ridiculously fun to write. I'm sure you can probably guess why. Xigbar/Luxu-- who will mainly go by 'Xigbar' but the names will be interchangeable-- is a surprising character to get behind and I chose to push his characterization in an odd direction while in the presence of none other than the Master himself. Funny how the card-carrying character acts in the presence of the ultimate card carrier. It's kinda cute. 
> 
> If it isn't clear, this scene is happening before the Epilogue during the final climax. Xigbar likes to nap after faking his death I guess. This is to provide a little context to what Luxu may be saying to his fellow apprentices. The last line is a reference to what Luxord told Sora about the box in kh3... And it doesn't really matter where Xigbar hid the box, he just did it well. 
> 
> For the record, Black Boxes on airplanes are not actually black but instead bright orange! (You know, so it can be found in the wreckage). Pop-culture paints them as such so we can call this McGuffin inspired by the concept than the actual thing. But on that note, I wonder if we are gonna actually find out what's in it?
> 
> Once again, your comments are everything to me! I will be posting every Saturday for the next 2 weeks for sure.


	7. Manipulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! It feels like it’s been ages. While last week was an interlude, the week before, we left off with Sora having received a package containing a game controller. This is something that apparently triggers the flashback to his revelation that he is a fictional game character. 
> 
> The chapter is a tad longer than usual mainly because I have some oc action that I like to pad out with a familiar cast. The ‘Real World’ is abundantly empty of characters we know so I appreciate you granting these creations a chance to move Sora’s story along. Hate to say it's set up but the mystery Sora poses to outsiders is rather similar to the mystery he himself is trying to solve.

_"I've been having these weird thoughts lately… Like is any of this for real?..._ _Or not?"_

The voice. The inflection. He knew it well. 

The illuminating glow of the TV monitor made Sawada Shoto’s pupils a brilliant white. He reached for a cheese-powder coated chip, not considering the war between the sound system and crackling snack bag. He shuffled himself forward in his tall, red and black cushioned chair. 

The boy hovered his thumb over the pause button. He tore his gaze momentarily to the phone on the side table. There was a video on it that he snuck while at school. Did he dare compare its audio side-by-side to this example?

The bass on his speakers pulsed like a heartbeat. Shoto suddenly found the notion of pausing the gradually building, electric melody a daunting task. The screen depicted a cartoony youth falling in the void. It was fantastical imagery. Gripping and nostalgic. 

The vocals pulled him in. His memories ushered the cinematics through their patterns like rehearsed routine. It might have been years since he booted up this particular disk, but the practice of restarting his game system just to rewatch the opening etched this visual artwork into his very soul. The waves crashed. The boy spun. His friend reached. The tide carried him away. 

There was a pretty girl waving the character down. He ran to her. She smiled, so did he. It was an infectious and bright grin. Shoto felt his lips curl unconsciously with them.

The song kicked into a new idea, grabbing Shoto and tossing him emotionally around and around like a thrilling rollercoaster looking down upon a theme park. He almost felt compelled to sing along with it as the pair of characters looked to the sky at the falling star. But wait, that was actually the boy falling through the sky. Two places at once. How wild. 

_“Shoto! Are you listening to music? It’s late!”_

Hot anger invaded. His finger jolted onto the pause button in a knee-trigger response. The music stopped abruptly. It was almost painful cutting off the beat, choking the melody in its place and freezing the image of boy inverted on the screen. 

“No _Mom_!” Shoto shouted through the door, unwilling to get up to answer her sudden question. It was a response in kind. 

_“What’s that I hear? You need to go to bed!”_

“It’s only 9 o’clock!” He felt those words leave him like a scream.

“ _Excuse_ _me_?” There were clomping stomps up the step. Fear shoved aside that sticky irritation in no time at all. The doorknob shivered, wiggled, and clicked. His mother’s face poked through the door opening with laser beams for eyes. With a single flip of a switch, the room exploded into light. “Watch your tone young man! _”_

The den was littered in clothes and snack wrappers. Homework covered the desk in haphazard piles, surrounded by dioramic figures and game cases. His massive TV was tucked in the corner dripping in cords. It filled his mother with resigned regret every time. 

Shoto scrambled the game controller onto his side table and swiveled his chair to face his mother, submission already gestured on his hands. “Sorry! Sorry!” 

“It is a school night boy! You have classes and cram school you are not going to be playing your games all night!”

Shoto cringed at her venomous voice. “I promise I won’t play long.. I-I.. just need to check something!” 

“That game isn’t going anywhere, but the clock _is._ Last warning.”

Shoto’s round face scrunched red. Habitually, he reached for the black knit beanie on his head of curly dark hair. He tugged on the sides like they were floppy ears. The boy waited a moment as though to see if his mother would have a change of heart, her stoic power stance made him seize. 

“ _Fine_.”

He rose and smacked a hand to the side of the large TV. The screen sucked itself into darkness. 

Pleased, his mother turned on her heels. The door was promptly closed behind her. 

He waited for her footsteps to die down before flicking the TV monitor right back on and turning the lights off. Status quo achieved.

“Alright, let’s see…” He muttered sitting back down on his gaming chair. The volume dial started to shrink with his repetitive remote clicks while his free hand reached for his phone on the side table. While he was already paused...

The phone screen sprung awake. He unlocked it to an already opened picture app. On it was an unfocused candid photo. 

A boy. Light brown hair in wild directions holding up his head against a desk. Bored out of his mind. His school blazer was askew. It looked like he had never tied a tie in his life. Shoto held the picture in front of him, sharing his vision with the paused TV image. 

And what a close match it was. The blue of the character's eyes was identical to the picture's glazed over disinterest. The spikes were a little different but of the same theme. 

Satisfied, the dreamlike cinematics flared back to life with Shoto's button-press permission. 

Falling. Falling. The boy was falling. Shoto was quickly sucked in. He fiddled with the controller eagerly, waiting to take over. He gave a dry chuckle as the music died down and the iconic stained glass setting consumed the screen. He couldn’t control the grin that curled along his face as the character in lower polygon count and saturated colors glanced around the black void. He looked at the camera. At Sawada Shoto.

“... you were a cute kid, Kakehashi-kun…”

The research continued. 

* * *

< _Someone knows > _

Anon’s response was not a comfort. It was obvious. Of course, someone knew. 

_ >Did they just guess?< _ He typed back. In his panic, the box and video game controller was tossed on the floor and pushed several feet away. He didn’t really know what came over him. He just knew that his heart was still racing and that the sight of the thing-- _message--_ was chilling to the core. 

_ <Maybe…> _Anon responded back almost instantly. 

His first day of classes, the school body or at least the ones of basic pop-culture savvy, were nothing close to discrete in observing that new kid ‘Kakehashi’ had a likeness to video game icon and JRPG protagonist _Sora._ His given name was especially coincidental. Anon told him to excuse the coincidence to chance, admiration, and imitation-- a very awkward idea to wrap his head around. It was still a buzzy topic in the class, even as his social performance began to wear on his novelty factor. 

_ <But why mail it?> _ Anon pressed. _ <It feels like a threat.> _

Sora couldn’t help but agree. The shivers of shock relaxed at an inconveniently slow pace. His body at that moment had an inherent understanding of what he saw. Because it made sense. No one knew his address (save for those with access to his school files). And while his appearance could spark a number of reactions, even some of a taunting nature, the specific selection of a _game controller_ was remarkably vague. And well...

Controllers like that… meant only one thing to someone like Sora. 

_Strings_. 

Witnessing the advertisement with his face on it was the most peculiar revelations in this new setting. It didn’t hit him with confidence as one might expect, but it did unsettle him. Surely it was a coincidence (down to the threads on his back?). Perhaps there was an explanation-- like his legend traveling through the Ocean Between, captivating this world (? was this a world? No, this was… a consequence…). And then that stranger on the phone put it so bluntly.

Created

Character

Puppet

Story

Show

[Game]

_Controlled_

The vice grip of fate clamped around his neck. It was so similar to his time before, as the Power of Waking he so freely abused knocked and knocked and that dream Xehanort's gloat tapped on his shoulder. There was no one to pretend around now. No one to promise grand returns to. But there were also no strings… right?

Sora swallowed the thoughts down with a shudder. It didn’t help. He could deal. 

_ >What should we do?< _

It kinda felt nice to type ‘we’. 

< _Find the sender. They could really mess things up if they started blabbing_.>

The threat of that happening gave Sora pause. An earlier conversation fluttered through his mind. The confusion he had when making the game plan with Anon for what to do next stemmed from exactly this.

> _But you said that no one would believe me if I told them._ <

He tried typing faster to finish his point. These words seemed harder because of the very real fear he associated with them.

> _You said they’d think I was sick._ <

‘Crazy.’ The word was crazy. 

A word that never held much weight or power until it was the very factor between his heart thriving or starving. Hindsight provided him a montage of that word in the thoughts and faces of the strangers around Shibuya crossing. The pain in his chest was real and cold, like claws digging. Denial was a feeble shield to others and to himself.

> _Shouldn’t that be the same for anyone else?_ <

He was used to a little restraint in his travels. So much that he stopped trying to count the number of times he mistook Donald’s ‘World Order’ warning with ‘World Border’. You weren’t allowed to tell folks about other worlds. The _exact_ reason was a little elusive, and he was pretty sure there were a number of exceptions to the rule but it made sense. People can’t go knowing that there’s a bunch of other places. It might make the denizen’s painfully curious. Hungry for power and knowledge. It could lead to a path of darkness. 

That’s what Sora deduced at least. The friends on his travels were probably the furthest candidates for such temptation (maybe not Jack… _both Jacks_ ) but that’s where he was sure there was another reason. One Donald probably explained in a long gummiship transit. 

This is all to say that it made sense for him to keep hush about where he was from. But he never actively sought to preserve or correct that order. And this ‘world’ ( _consequence_ )... it wasn’t the same. This situation wasn’t the same. Could this even be considered ‘World Order’? 

< _I guess you could say I’m more worried about what they’re trying to do to you... >_

Sora cupped the phone in his hands. In the silence, he started imagining Anon’s voice speaking his written word. He wasn’t capable of conjuring a voice he had never heard before, so he auditioned his memory of timbres. Riku’s soft reassurance was the only thing that could easily slot into these protective words. It made him feel warm in the proverbial safety, even as he looked out to the unknown. 

< _Most people assume you’re imitating art. >_

_ <If someone thinks you actually are art…No one will believe them. You’re safe.> _

_ <But...> _

_ <They could have done anything to let you know they know.> _

_ <And now I’m just wondering what they are gonna do next> _

Sora tore the phone from his sight, choosing to look at the game controller on the floor. The cord sprawled in his direction.

* * *

“I have a case for you, Miss Rep.”

A hand slapped Inoue’s desk before the morning bell. She tore away irritably from the textbook she was reading to look at the wry grin of fellow classmate, Sawada Shoto.

He was a picture of immaturity, round-faced with wild curly hair and dopey round eyes. Usually, he kept to himself, head in a magazine or game device. Yet he was also known for being eccentric and opinionated to the point of pure annoyance. Criticism rolled off of his self-confident defenses like water on rubber. Inoue did not see him as a person of her circle (when she thought to have a circle that is) and did not find pleasure in some of his more outlandish public forum outbursts. 

The unwarranted approach was too familiar. She decided it was not welcome.

“A case? Am I a PI?” People came to her to complain as she was a vehicle for their voice in the council. Though as of late the use of her resources were slowing. 

“No, but you are a lady of justice!” Sawada responded with a little too much cheer. He spoke too fast and the tone was a clear front, he must be nervous. “And one with resources!”

Inoue’s neutral face fell into dry irritation. “Yeah, I am _not_ looking up some girl’s phone number for you. It goes against my beliefs on privacy not to mention that it’s actually _beyond_ my purpose as your rep.”

Sawada made a squeak of surprise. “No no! I don’t want-- _ugh--_ I mean, I have some _interesting_ information for you, something that you _might_ want to look into as it pertains to _someone in our class._ ”

Inoue scowled. This was probably a bogus plot to rat on one of his neighbors or maybe stir up a rumor. While he didn’t seem like one to stage elaborate information schemes, he had proven in casual conversation to be full of crazy media-inspired ideas. She didn’t have to act on anything. “I’m listening then.”

Sawada lit up and then in a manner she could only describe as theatrical, he leaned in with his conspiracy. 

“I think the new kid has an after school part-time job.” 

That got her attention. While many would think it was due to her hawkish enforcement of school policy that was only partly the reason. 

“Kakehashi-san?”

Sawada nodded in earnest. 

This new kid was perplexing on so many levels and the simple thought of him brought a bad taste in her mouth. Her condemnation of him the day before was on the basis of his infuriating act in the day-to-day. Because that’s what it was. An act. His pathetic submission, his dumb silence, the curt agreement to questions, the way he let the idiot socialites peck at him. She just couldn’t buy that this kid was genuinely that self-pitying.

So he was a foreigner-- with impeccable language capacity but almost infantile cultural understanding? And his Hawaii backstory… it _is_ like he was just beefing up his resume with lies. And then the hero thing…

It almost made her grind her teeth. 

Before she just thought he needed to grow a backbone or maybe he was playing up a card in some form of defense in the new environment. But after yesterday’s stairwell confrontation, with his blaze of snide confidence and his clear-as-day _heroic_ inclinations, she was almost certain he was just manipulating a new school situation. Creating some kind of new-kid underdog scenario. To what end, she couldn’t tell but she didn’t trust him one bit. 

“What makes you think that?” She asked with narrowed eyes.

“Well, that’s the thing. I’m not sure exactly. I know for a fact that he comes to school from the North station like everyone else, but he doesn’t take it home.”

“That’s not, _unheard_ of. There’s a bus stop 3 blocks right of school.”

“-- _But he goes into the business district!”_

That definitely wasn’t near residential districts, maybe a hotel...and there weren’t cram schools that way… wait...

“You… know a lot about the new kid’s patterns...”

Sawada’s face grew flush and he recoiled at her accusation. “I-I got curious so I w-watched him a bit. Lost him… after a turn…” He trailed in his swell of nerves. Sawada’s fascination was beneath her. But...

An after school job? That wasn’t what she expected in the slew of things. The validity was dubious, but not _unfounded._

And school policy was her jurisdiction. 

“And what exactly are you looking to me for?” 

“Well! It’s against school rules to have a part-time job, isn’t it? You report that kind of stuff right?”

“Yes… but this is just a theory-- _a guess_. I’d need proof.”

“ _Gee_ , makes you wonder what his _admission papers_ have to say about it…”

Huh? 

“What would his admission papers have to do with a part-time job?” She was genuinely dumbfounded. 

“Maybe… he’s got special… permissions?”

Actually not a bad connection, but not the first thing she’d think of. Now it was pretty clear that Sawada was fishing for some specific details on the new kid that only she might be able to procure. The confidence that this was a false lead was set in stone and now she could shake the leech. 

“Maybe... you need more proof. I can’t just go snooping into the personal information of classmates on a _hunch_. And I’m insulted you think I’d even try.”

And Sawada took his hand off her desk like it was a hot stove. “Oh.”

Defeated and with an awkward glance around the room, Sawada stepped back. “I’m sorry I guess I’ve just been a little…” There was a high exasperated sigh. “...carried away… again. _Uh_... we can forget this.”

Sawada returned to his desk. Not long after, Kakehashi shuffled through the door without a word, setting his bag on his desk and taking a seat. Capturing his gaze was the image of socializing classmates, laughing and chatting. Like a wide-eyed puppy dog, he watched the cluster of kids almost envious.

Inoue held her textbook to her face to hide her flare of frustrated anger. At lunch, she’d ask the homeroom teacher to use the copy machine in the teachers' offices. She had the teacher’s password after an innocent favor months ago. Maybe the admission file could shine some light on this potential part-timer problem. 

* * *

The sky above Disney Castle glittered with a million stars. 

Beneath the stars, past the thicket of sculpted ivy hedges, underneath the shell of metal, through the coiling gears and pistons lied the workshop of Gummiship Engineers, Chip, and Dale. Chip was currently jumping around the computer module designing a ship model with frantic creative energy. Dale, on the other hand, was by the massive telescope. The contraption looped and coiled surfacing it’s large scope toward the night sky. The red-nosed chipmunk’s brother was too consumed in his work to scold Dale for such an unproductive activity, but he had heard word of an amusing formation in the stars and wanted to investigate.

… and something was definitely eye-catching.

“ _Wowza_! Hey, Chip check this out!”

Chip paused the repetitive two-handed press of a button with a sigh.

“Now Dale, we told Cid we’d finish the blueprints to the new Excalibur ship by tomorrow!”

Excited, Dale ushered his brother to the telescope. “I know, but Chipper this is really neat! Who knows if it will last!”

“ _Fine.”_ Chip scampered from the terminal. “But we should get to work right after!”

He squared his gaze into the eye-hole that was basically the size of his face. 

“That star in the middle is so bright! Like a shooting star! But it’s not moving nowhere!”

Indeed, squared in the telescope was a brilliant star, It was massive. Spires of light sprawling around it. It even produced a halo around its shimmering brilliance. It filled Chip with wonder… then concern.

Wordlessly, he jumped off the platform and climbed up to another computer terminal. A smack of a button brought the screen to life and he pulled the telescope’s vision on the screen. Another button press and scanners and meters were analyzing with frantic beeps. 

“What’s wrong Chip?” Dale asked in the midst of the sudden focus. 

“I-I’m not sure! I think something’s wrong! You remember what the King always says. Those stars are Worlds!”

The computer’s analysis was soon completed. A large box filled the screen in red.

_[Error: Unable to Anchor Coordinates]_

“No Coordinates?!” Dale exclaimed.

“But there are still readings! It’s there!”

“Is it moving?!”

“I-It’s _shaking._ The World is… is shaking!”

“Oh no! What does that mean?”

“Ready the ship Dale! I’ll tell the King!”

The chipmunk pattered across the echoing floors of the castle halls, sliding at the turns with his panicked momentum. He got to the massive throne room doors and without hesitation, he ran directly at it. With his tiny body, he smushed himself through the bottom crack of the door, popping out of the other end like a slingshot.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” He called, closing the distance. The king wasn’t on his throne… but a glow emitted from behind his chair. That meant only one thing. 

“Your Majesty!” Chip shouted turning around the throne. There stood the King, a serious expression on his face staring at a glowing keyhole on the back of his chair. 

“--Yes Master Yen Sid!” He said with a nod. “And I’ll get back with you on his whereabouts the moment I find them!” The light died away.

“Chip! What are you doing here?” The mouse king exclaimed.

“Dale and I found a strange reading on a World! We’ve never seen anything like it! It’s like it’s going all haywire!”

“Haywire?” Mickey jumped. He quickly sobered his expression. “Thank you Chip. Actually, Master Yen Sid just explained how the stars are all messed up all of a sudden. We must be looking at the same problem.”

“We’re readying a ship! Are you going to investigate?”

Mickey solemnly shook his head. “Not me. Master Yen Sid is sending our fastest.”

“Is it Riku?” Chip asked hopefully.

That question brought pain to the mouse’s eyes. Dejected, the King visibly slumped forward. “No.”

Chip let out a sympathetic sigh as the King continued. 

“We haven’t heard from Riku in weeks. The Master wants to keep me on the look-out for him.”

Chip gave himself a determined shake. “Oh! He’ll come back to us! You can scold him for days for the trouble!”

The King gave a small smile. “Aw, Thanks Chip.”

The chipmunk looked at his feet, suddenly troubled. “Say… your Majesty? This… isn’t the _darkness_ again is it?”

The mouse grimaced. The answer shivered behind his eyes-- how he didn’t want this truth. 

“That’s the thing… it’s _definitely_ not the darkness this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the first time I've written Disney characters. Repetition is key to their dialogue I'm finding. 
> 
> Okay. So we've got a suspicious new character on the scene coercing our antagonistic Inoue into the curious case of Sora. It's so weird referring him by his pseudonym... Anyway. Sora's reaction to the whole 'yer a vidja game character' is gonna be a reasonable... sense of denial. A little itching sense of existential dread... ya know. It's no secret Sora has a habit of pushing down his concerns. This hella meta revelation has a lot of uncomfortable implications. Being fake, being controlled, being trivialized. But the isolation of this revelation is perhaps the most damning.
> 
> On a personal note, I have 2 weeks to write you guys another chapter-- a lot of prep before my first teaching year is happening-- until then look forward to next Saturday.


	8. Disruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inoue investigates and Xigbar makes his move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the only thing making the wait between chapters so incredibly long to me is the fact that I've had these prewritten for weeks and I've been spending my day-to-day prepping for the school year. I just want to put out there that I adore you commenters like you are the fire that fuels me right now. I would respond but I seriously just ramble on and on and I have a bad habit of not letting my story speak for itself. But oh man, speculate away. I have plans and I like to tease. I am not doing things by accident I promise you. 
> 
> In other news, this is a chapter I like to dub 'Sora-lite'-- cause he's not in it much. What can I say? He's an expensive name on the payroll.

“‘Kakehashi Sora. Birthday… March 28th... 15 years old… male… _\--ah_ , Transfer Student…’”

The computer screen rattled off data in a blur. Most of it was standard. Address, contact information, allergies… But of course, for this transfer student, nothing was straightforward. 

Former School: ______[no data]_________ 

Rank percentile: _____[no data]_________

Entrance Exam Score: _____exempt______

“Didn’t take the test?” Inoue muttered. She was grateful for the staff lunch meeting that cleared the office space. It was exceedingly rare that a transfer student would be able to get into the school without taking the benchmark exam. And in the case of exemption, they needed to be in a high academic rank at their previous school. Kakehashi had none of that. 

The class rep suddenly had the mind to jot some of these things down. As she took down the address, the parental contact caught her eye. Only one section was filled out. Only one parent. 

“ _Kakehashi_ ” Was all it read. No given name. The phone number by his name was the same as the primary contact information and under relation, it simply said: ‘ _father’._

Confusion twisted the knife as each line came up blank. Required fields were filled with zeros and ‘n/a’. No mention of America. Nothing on his school. This kid was an absolute ghost. Somebody had to approve of this.

She scrolled down to the bottom where administrator notes were compiled. One such bullet point _was_ something she was already aware of. 

  * Student has a note of authentication for their hairstyle on file. Do not penalize. 



The homeroom teacher mentioned this when Inoue voiced her concern in private. After observing the remarkable holes in this file, the desire to actually see this correspondence was palpable. This ‘Mr. Kakehashi’ was enigmatic to the point of criminal. But more damning yet was the final administrator ‘note’ on the transfer student’s profile. Because it wasn’t a note. It was a badge. A flashing ‘ _Backer’_ badge. 

Reserved to denote tuition paid with the highest donations. 

* * *

“Fate is such a funny thing, doncha think?” Xigbar purred, crouched low to rest his legs. In his hands was a beautifully crafted wooden bow. He strummed the taut string in a distracted manner, allowing it’s dull twang to amuse him. There was a sharp tongue click, almost masked by the distant sounds of festivities.

“I don’t see what’s so funny at all. I’d rather not be a puppet to some force I cannot even fathom.”

“But see that’s the thing.” Xigbar countered, grabbing the bow and pointing it at his hooded companion whose broad shoulders faced the crowd of merry denizens. “People get so bent out of shape trying to defy it the moment it doesn’t look good for them.--But that’s just so much work! Why try so hard against the inevitable?”

At his feet, Xigbar grabbed at a small quiver of arrows. For a moment he fiddled with the thing until finally lacing it along the bow. “Fate’s like a user’s manual. Makes things easy. _Smooth sailing._ ”

Even in his poor posture, Xigbar mocked the arrow’s draw, squinting his gaze to the back of his companion’s head like a target. If he let go, the arrow would probably fall onto the earth. 

“... and I bet you know all about that-- _Aced._ ”

The Foreteller, wearing the mask of the bear, turned to face his brother-in-training. He was unphased by the targeted weapon but angered by other means. “I don’t see how this conversation aids the situation at hand-- _Luxu._ ”

The drawn arrow floated from its post away from the bow. It smacked Xigbar’s eyepatch and he made a face at the offensive weapon.

“ _Tch_ \-- That’s why I prefer the more _modern_ versions of these things.” He muttered, setting the bow down and rising to his feet. 

“Well?” Aced pressed. “Why are we here? And where is this?”

“‘ _The Land of Fate_ ’-- A heavy title for such a light-hearted World, you agree?”

Aced returned his attention to the festivities beyond the trees. At the foot of a modest stone castle was a village in anticipation. People were shuffling about the dirt paths back and forth moving towards an open clearing. Docked ships in the nearby channel and the steady drone of bagpipes indicated formal company. 

“What do you suppose is going on?”

“ _Well_ , according to the kingdom heralds-- there is to be a competition for the princess of this fine land’s hand in marriage. The event of the ages!”

“And are we here to view this?”

“You got that right bear-boy. Where else would the story start?”

Xigbar led the charge to the village streets where flows of people congregated to the field. The townsfolk were too full of their excited rabble to even give them a second look. Aced trailed in with uncertainty.

“W-Wait! Shouldn’t we assume a glamour of some kind? _The World Order._ ”

Xigbar stopped his gait with an exasperated roll of his eyes. His former colleagues weren’t nearly this considerate of such trivial things. He was lucky none of the summoned Foretellers knew of his hand in inciting the Keyblade War. Such goodie-goodies. 

“Actually, that isn’t necessary. Robes are all the rage here-- well next to kilts. _Oh--_ and hey--” He snatched something from one of the neighboring market stands. “--you fit right in with your bear-y-ness.”

He wiggled a small wooden figurine of a bear in his companion’s face. It was a savage-looking toy with a maw of chiseled teeth and battle scars engraved in its wooden hide. Aced bared his notably less pointy teeth in response, swiping the thing away with annoyance. Xigbar returned the figurine to the stand of wood carvings, giving the glaring old lady a charming grin of apology.

“Besides, fitting in goes against the point.”

In the event clearing, the pair weaseled away from the crowding stand of onlookers and curled around the outskirts of the subjected spectacle. There was little order in the sense of audience control so no one stopped them from hanging back closer to the action. Upon the field, people took on feats of physical prowess in a series of games and challenges. Dancers performed, musicians flailed their fingers, kids played.

The contestants prepared for the trial; stretching with theatrical posturing, convening with the clan heads, and fiddling with the object of the test.

 _‘Oh, so it’s a game of good ol’ archery’_ His body was a proud marksman, a trait Luxu happily assimilated when he commandeered poor Braig’s life from him. The thrill of setting one’s sights on a target and pulling the trigger to take it instantly was a sensation he could sympathize with. 

Elevated in a sturdy viewing structure was a row of thrones, the royal family took their seats. An elegant woman in green, a large peg-legged beast of a man, three antsy red-headed triplets and a young lady. The princess sat in discomfort, covered head to toe in a formal gown-- a lick of her red hair poking from her head covering in rebellion. Her defiance was a brilliant spotlight. Xigbar couldn’t help the chuckle that came from him.

“What is it?” Aced asked, practically offended. 

“Oh, nothing,” Xigbar said. “I’m just tickled that you lot needed a _book_ to tell you how things would play out.”

Aced was about to protest when the woman in green-- clearly the queen-- rose above the rabble of villagers beside her excited husband. Unable to contain himself, the king stood abruptly and loudly proclaimed.

“It’s time!”

The queen in a clear voice, dripping in similar mirth shouted after him. “Archers, to your mark!”

“Aye! Archers, to…your marks!”

“And may the lucky arrow find its target!”

What proceeded could only be described as anti-climatic. Xigbar knew he shouldn’t have expected more from three amateur children against stale immobile targets, but the rhythmic drumming preamble got his hopes up. The three suitors, one by one, filed to their target, drew their bow, and gave archery a good old try. 

The final, strange-looking, vertically challenged suitor, landed a bullseye-- by no effort but luck’s sense of humor. 

The people were cheering wildly. Music was sounding, things were being thrown. Joyous chaos. Aced turned to Xigbar with his lips pursed. 

“I don’t understand the significance of our being here. The princess is to marry. It’s done.”

Xigbar had his eye fixed on a rock in the storm. The princess abruptly rising in the uproar and ducking behind her throne while the world was distracted. His grin was ear-splitting.

“Don’t speak so soon my friend.” He said without breaking his gaze. Behind his observing yellow eye, an idea brewed. The thrill it brought him was maddening. 

Sure enough, a banner perched into the ground, a new clan symbol joined the other three. It’s presence brought silence. An unexpectant new contestant for the princess’s hand was draped in a cloak.

Who could it be? An old friend here to prove his love for her? A scheming villain here to steal the throne? If you paid attention, it wasn’t hard to guess. 

A shock of wild red hair was freed from the cloak and the crowd gasped. 

“I am Merida, firstborn descendant of Clan DunBroch, and I'll be shooting for my own hand!”

“ _Bingo~_ ”

Xigbar gave Aced a sidelong glance and finger guns. The Foreteller looked around under his mask in confusion. 

“I’d like you to watch carefully what I’m about to do, Aced.” He walked away, weaving through the crowd while Aced stumbled his questions and protest.

The people exclaimed as the princess drew her bow, ripping her constricting dress in an angry jerk of her torso. 

“ _Merida!”_ Her mother shouted in horror. 

Calmly, and with a piercing focus in her eyes, the now unconfined princess prepped her arrow to the target and paced along the line. She released.

Bullseye.

Draw, release.

Bullseye.

Before the victor’s target, Merida paused to center her breath. There was an entire arrow shaft in her way. She’d have to split it. Her mother was plowing towards her, declaring furious threats against her daughter’s actions. The young royal was unphased. 

“Merida! I forbid it!”

She released the arrow. It slithered past. The bow knocked into her forearm. It was sure. The trajectory was straight and ferocious and inevitable. 

Only for a black-gloved hand to stop it frozen in its tracks.

The village was stunned silent. Merida’s jaw was slack. 

Xigbar pulled the arrow to his face and poked at its pointed head with childish ignorance. He whistled, impressed.

“Man, you are good!” He laughed. “That was _definitely_ gonna make its mark.” He briefly fiddled with the tail of the submerged winning arrow.

No one could find words. The intruder continued, directing his attention out.

“So the princess doesn’t want to get married? You are way ahead of your time Little Miss!”

Merida found her voice in a hot spike of anger. “Who are you?” 

The villagers waited with curious anticipation. Xigbar balanced the arrow in his palm. “Who me? I’m just a concerned passerby.” 

In the crowd, Aced seethed. Finally kicking himself out of his shocked silence, he intervened pushing himself into the clearing with billowing steam. “What are you _doing_ Luxu?!”

Xigbar gave an amicable exclamation. “Oh Aced, I’m glad you were watching. Come here, I’ll walk you through it.”

Aced’s confusion at Xigbar’s plot won out. He drew closer, cautiously glancing around for something as the interloper continued.

“You see--people of this fine land…” Aced had never seen Luxu speak to a crowd before, there was a remarkable amount of showmanship. “... I find myself concerned with the dear princess’s spit of rebellion! Does she not understand the responsibility of her station?”

The crowd shuffled a little. They were listening. Xigbar’s words were charming. There were many faces they did not recognize around them. They weren’t nearly as hostile as they could’ve been. 

“I mean, they don’t put on these arranged marriages for no reason am I right? The queen can probably attest to that!”

Eyes turned to the regal woman. She seemed perturbed by the grandstanding stranger but she remained silent. 

“Just think, years from now-- calamity could strike! Invaders from far off lands! A poor yield of crops! Or even just a _big scary bear_ could happen upon the kingdom. And when the princess calls for help she’s going to wonder why everyone’s just being so darn rude! --It’s not like she snubbed their rightful chance for power or anything!”

The Clan heads who were postured in a defensive manner slackened their stances in consideration. The royal couple looked as uncomfortable as poor Merida in her constricting dress. 

“But forgive me for my forwardness! I do think we’ve avoided the complication now haven’t we?” Xigbar stepped to the side to prevent his obscuring of the target. The arrow of the third suitor was still squarely in place. 

“Congratulations are in order for Lord… ‘Dingwall’-- was it? You are sure to be a hearty ally!” 

The Dingwall Clan took the spotlight with befuddlement. Xigbar threw his hand their way in presentation.

“Hear, hear!”

Any and all tension created from Xigbar’s outburst diffused. The excited noises from the people began to return. Laughs and calls rang out once more. People were always ready to dismiss their troubles.

“Aye! Hear, hear!”

“Congratulations!”

“To Lord Dingwall!”

"What a happy couple they'll be!"

The people resumed their cheering from before Merida’s interruption. The rabble was almost a protest in its own right. Xigbar gave a glance to the royals location, the queen consulting with her husband who had come to her side. Without taking her eyes off of the villagers, she held her mouth in a thin line, containing her steady fury. She settled her focus on her daughter in the sea of victory.

Merida was shell-shocked. Her hands were shaking.

“Princess.” Xigbar directed his attention square on the red-head as the people celebrated. “Don’t take it personally. I’m just trying to... what was it? Oh!--‘ _change yer fate.'_ ” 

There were furious tears in her eyes. She darted her gaze around the people, celebrating her imprisonment. Xigbar took note of the queen making moves toward her daughter, a pursuit. 

Merida, firstborn descendant of Clan DunBroch gave an enraged yell of protest. Her bow whipped the air. And with that, she stormed away. Her forceful walk through the people turned into a trot and then an all-out run.

“ _Merida!”_ Her mother called after her. 

The sound of her stifled sobs rang through the land.

Xigbar looked at the arrow he stole pensively as the people took alarm to her retreat. “Oh but princess, it appears you’re going the wrong way.”

Peculiar. The arrow was flickering, distortions peeled off its shaft. Buzzing, glitching. As though it was throwing an absolute fit. Satisfaction curled Xigbar’s lips like a purring cat eating a canary.

At his feet, the grass turned into liquid puddles. Slowly, small crystalline creatures shivered from the earth, emitting a faint glow. Their long rabbit-like ears were chains that jostled with their emergence. They scratched at the earth with spastic twitching. Their pitch-black eyes darted around the world from which they were born. 

Drafts-- as they were called, were rather adorable abominations.

“ _Luxu…_ ” Aced called cautiously, eyes on the green creatures. No one had noticed their sly activity just yet. 

“Don’t worry. They’re a sign.”

“A sign?”

“A sign that we are poking the right holes.”

“‘ _Poking holes’_? What are you talking about!?”

Xigbar ignored him and instead looked down to the three creatures at his feet. “The fate of this World is sure to right itself!” He whispered sensationally to the Drafts, displaying the arrow before them. “Give her a little slow down will you?”

The mindless things made no note of Xigbar’s word. They simply shivered into the earth. The distortions of their puddles then shot along the surface in Merida’s direction.

“Let’s get to work Aced. We only caused a slight snag in the World’s design-- and well--the Master said to ‘wreak havoc’ after all.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heee The prologue babies return. First chapter has an image of their appearance if you forgot. 
> 
> So I am one of the many folks who was rather underwhelmed with the story of Brave. It's not bad but it's a little one note-- I'm not gonna get into it. But preferences aside if there is one good thing Brave does, it's talk about fate~ Irresistible KH content people. I had a blast writing this chapter. It like rattled off me mainly cause Aced and Xigbar are destined to be a knockout matchup. Aced's bullheadedness and Xigbars coy-ass trolling? Like it writes itself and I damn sure hope canon delivers. 
> 
> So this is where I tell you that after next week I will be out of chapters in the queue... unless inspiration strikes and I neglect all first-time teacher stress demands. But on that note, hype for next chapter. I think many of you will like it.


	9. Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience. School started but I am finding some reprieve in thinking, plotting, and writing this story. I have a lot in store and your encouragement and interest is everything to me. I threw a bit of a curve last chapter with some Xigbar fun and now we are going to see where all this suspicion with Sora in the real world leads.

The sight of his classmate’s back walking through the crowded pedestrian path, sucked Sawada’s gaze in. He followed leagues behind him, obscured by fellow strangers in either direction, but hypersensitive to the sightlines. He needed to see the peer’s head of wild brown spikes, bowed forward but bobbing to a slumping gait.

Everything about the new kid triggered Sawada’s recognition. The way he held himself in idle moments, his lounging posture of boredom. His nervous vocal lilt when he wasn’t sure.

Appearance-wise, his hair was the greatest tell. The unruly spikes poked in _just_ the right directions to be unmistakable. Next to that, it was his dazzling blue eyes, rimmed around full, almost feminine lashes. And he’d be remiss not to mention how the boy had received a gentle scolding from the homeroom teacher for the clattering metal necklace by his collar on the first day. 

The crown pendant convinced him that these features were less than coincidental. He didn’t wear it again, but there was no hiding that thing’s unique origin. 

A theory stirred. Self-indulgent. Fantastical and fun. He wanted it. Wanted _something_ . Wouldn’t that just be the _craziest thing?_ And so cool. Just the thought of it made his heart race.

\--which he’d promptly squelch with the correct combo of unsavory memories. Too many times was the victim to scornful ridicule and chastisement.

If in the end, Kakehashi Sora was just an aptly named enthusiast-- perhaps Sawada could simply enjoy like-minded company. The new kid never had to know.

He was absorbed in watching him so much that he failed to notice the figure flank his left.

“Tell me the real reason you’re following Kakehashi.” 

Sawada jumped, a surprised yelp escaping him as Inoue shot him an annoyed glare at his loud exuberance. Nevertheless, her gaze was postured forward, an arrow at her target a block ahead of her. She was a fierce-looking girl, the only sign of levity was the bounce of her ponytail, even then it was pulled iron tight to her head. 

“Huh?” He said in a high voice. 

Kakehashi was approaching a crosswalk. The sudden pair had to think quick before they caught up with him. Inoue grabbed Sawada’s arm and pulled him around the entryway of a convenience store, obscured from the sidewalk. Pedestrians looked at the two with disinterest. Just another young couple looking for a place to share a moment. 

“You wanted me to check his files. Why?”

Sawada was visibly intimidated by Inoue’s forceful question, but something in her answer triggered a spark of delight. 

“ _What did you find?”_

His eagerness made her take a step back. Sawada’s was trying to make her look up his file. This ‘stake-out’ was just a front to get her on board, right? He supposedly knew what she’d find in his files. She bit her tongue from the free flow answer to his question-- undeniably genuine. He really didn’t know...

“That he’s definitely not in need of a part-time job.” She said sourly, trying to call him out on this facade.

“Interesting…” He practically whispered. His eyes were dancing around the street, mulling a million thoughts. He glanced behind the corner to take another look at the subject. Kakehashi was on his phone. 

“Where _are_ you going?” Sawada asked himself.

“You knew that already didn’t you? That’s why you mentioned his file.” She tried to cover up her implicit obedience to his plan with a forceful delivery.

“Not at all. The only thing I knew is… _he’s_ ...just-- _something’s not right about the new kid._ ” 

Inoue let something sink in-- trying to read Sawada’s face for a tell. He was self-conscious about something. She sighed. 

“So...it was a _hunch_. An honest to god hunch.” She confirmed, beside herself with disbelief. He nodded fiercely. She felt played. And disappointed in herself.

She knew well enough that a guess would not have brought her to look into Kakehashi, regardless of her irritation at him. Her principles were too strong. She needed an excuse as much as Sawada did. She fell back a little dumbfounded. 

“... I guess you have decent instincts…” 

Sawada perked up.

“The kid’s a total ghost. There are no records, no test, no data except the basic stuff...”

“No way. _Wild_.” The excitement in his eyes was uncontained and fervent. Inoue suddenly regretted the share of info. He was positively _beaming._ It was creepy. 

“Now this could mean a lot of things.” She pressed, trying to temper the imagination of this insufferable classmate of hers. “It could be an administration error or something. He’s got a parent contact...” With no given name… Seriously how did anyone sign off on that?

The donor badge flashed for a reason. Inoue felt a well of shame twist her face. 

Her school was _dirty_.

“A parent contact? Who is it? Maybe we can dig up where they are!”

… he wanted to play detective, didn’t he? Inoue scoffed, disgusted with the child standing before her.

“What? no! There’s just a last name and a phone number--”

“--Let’s call ‘em!” 

“Call who?”

Inoue’s stomach dropped. In her sightline, she saw the crosswalk, completely empty. A number of well-dressed businessmen walked across the street, unhindered by the lights. 

Their target was nowhere to be found. 

“Do… you wanted my phone number?… I’m happy to give it to you if ask.”

She turned to see Kakehashi standing awkwardly in the sidewalk beside them. He had a hand on his school bag, grip tight. She noticed his cellphone in his right hand, held like a protective talisman. His expression was level, chin down ever so slightly. Defensive. 

“What? How?” Sawada spluttered, as surprised as Inoue. What direction had he come from? When?

“--Actually” The interruption from their target was a haphazard bite at the air. Breathless. Forced. “I have a question for you.” 

Any rebuttal forming in Inoue’s throat retreated. He didn’t speak impolitely. In fact, he sounded uncomfortable. Almost scared. He swallowed. 

“Did either one of you… send a package to my address?”

Confusion swept away Inoue’s expression. 

“A package?” She parrotted. She didn’t expect such a forward question. She didn’t expect to talk to him at all.

Kakehashi shifted. “Yeah… it’s just… no one knows where I live. At least I _think…_ ”

“ _\--And why is that?”_ Sawada blurted loudly and Inoue sharply took in his tense excitement. He looked like a dog pulling on a leash. Kakehashi jerked back in response. He looked overwhelmed, his eye contact breaking to look around, trained for an easy escape. 

“Sawada!” Inoue snapped. She didn’t know if it was from the sudden instinct to apologize for her presence next to this immature company, or if it was in defense of whatever investigative strategy she thought to employ on the new kid. 

“Because I… I’m new…” Kakehashi tried a smile, spluttering a response, caught off guard. This was the pathetic-new-kid act once again. Nothing like the boy in the stairwell telling her off for reckless evidence gathering. 

“What were you sent?” Inoue asked with a frown. Kakehashi looked like a deer in the headlights.

“N-nothing… uh… It was nothing…” He took a step back, avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry to bother you…”

Inoue slammed her teeth together. Like a cobra her hand snatched out, her fingers curled around his forearm, pulling at his sudden retreat. Kakehashi was stunned at her attack.

“It’s clearly not _nothing!_ ” She growled, fed up with the kid. Her fingers dug into his blazer jacket. “What were you sent?”

For all she knew, it could violate school rules. 

“A… a game controller.”

Huh? He had mumbled the words but… she heard it.

That made Inoue pause. Nothing about this kid was predictable. Awkwardness rushed over her and she raised a brow. She couldn’t control the lace of judgment in her words.

“And that ...bothers you?”

Kakehashi pulled himself from her grip. “I-It’s nothing! Like I said… nothing… sorry...” He insisted and he turned around, practically trotting down the street toward the crosswalk. The slump of his shoulders was embarrassed and defensive. She could tell his chin was tucked down.

“ _I-Is it because you’re from a video game?_ ”

Sawada blurted, wild. He was breathing heavy, eyes practically clipped open. Like saying that one question took everything in his power. Inoue’s face dropped.

What…

Kakehashi frozen mid-stride.

“I-It’s cause you’re from a video game… right? Sora?” Sawada was shaking. Adrenaline buzzing and coursing through him. 

Confusion, gobsmacked befuddlement corkscrewed around Inoue’s head. What did he just say? She gave a dry huff in an attempt to expel some of her offense. _Was he crazy?_ Was this opinionated immature classmate of hers certifiably _insane?_

“W-what did you just say?” She directed at her unintentional companion. He ignored her.

“Sora? I-I didn’t send you any package… but that’s your name. _Sora_.” Sawada pressed. Kakehashi hadn’t moved. An absolute statue.

Inoue barked a laugh. The tension was suffocating. The world turned upside down. 

“What are you talking about?” She pressed with a forced smile. She had _some_ hope that this classmate of hers wasn’t off his rocker, lost in baby dreamland. She wanted to believe that she didn’t just enable such an unhealthy, absorbed, deluded theory and help him corner an innocent if infuriating classmate. “You’re being too casual with someone you just met don’t you think?”

Kakehashi was slumped forward. Was he angry? Scared? Inoue regretted being a part of this scene. She felt the need to apologize for even associating… She glanced between the two parties for a moment more. Confusion buzzing behind her face like a nest of annoying, aggressive hornets. 

Then, Kakehashi turned around. 

And tears were falling down his cheeks. His petrified blue eyes swimming. Shaking. He was red in the face, mounting in barely contained emotions seeping from the cracks. He looked at Sawada. A shuddering breath escaped him. 

“You…” He started, struggling to speak. His voice was thick, wet and crackling. His hands were shaking fists. He sniffed. The tears just spilled down the tracks. 

And there was a phantom smile in all of that pain. Hopeful, yearning, relief. 

“...don’t think I’m crazy?”

  


Sora held his breath. Cutting off the air forcibly as if to suspend the silence between his question and the frightening response. Ever since he read the word on Anon’s chatlog. Ever since that first night in this Consequence where his very being was a point of senseless rejection. A rejection he couldn’t fight. Viewing that picture of his face behind a wall so untouchable. So far. So invisible. A wall telling him he was stuck here. And here was the Truth. The dream was over and he was nothing. Nothing. Nothing but crazy. Insane. Out of touch. Unreachable in every sense of the word.

He did this to himself. He knew. He knew. He felt it coming. Why did he expect anything different? Why did he do it? Why did he go over the edge? He knew. Crazy. Insane. Stupid. Stupid. CRAZY.

_‘Sora you lazy bum!’_

Clarity. 

He hadn’t realized it until Sawada had said it, but Sora hadn’t been called by his name since arriving here. 

Sawada’s mind was racing. He couldn’t close his mouth. His fantasy. The greatest conjuring of his imagination… was real? It was… a game… a wish… something so farcical. Unreal. He… didn’t think he’d get this far. And here he was… the wildest option was apparently true. And it was crying.

He felt a laugh of disbelief taunt his chest. Sawada gave the briefest of nods. Dazed. Against any better judgment.

“Yeah…” He heard his voice say. “A-Are you really… from...?”

A final shot in the dark. A final chance for Sawada to be disappointed. For the game to stop.

Inoue watched the scene helpless to the sickness in her gut. It festered cold… her muscles constricted.

The tension snapped for Sora first. A rush of relief. He brought the heel of his hand to his eye. He sniffled while rubbing his eyes. Sucking a breath through clenched teeth, he nodded.

“It’s a little hard for me to get my head around it myself...” He smiled at Sawada, inviting the boy to release some of that pent up excitement in his own expression.

“The actual hard thing to understand…” Inoue's voice pressed out of her with force. A fire in her was fueling its volume. “... is how you both aren’t in some kind of hospital.”

Kakehashi’s face fell. Any and all hope or relief out like a light as is expression glazed over.

“Do you guys hear yourself? -- _it’s ridiculous._ ”

“Rep…” Sawada cautioned in a low voice. The hostility he turned on was not an expression she could even imagine on the boy. It only served to infuriate her even more.

“You dragged me into this Sawada, I’ll speak my mind. --I mean you two are _15-years old._ ”

Kakehashi flinched. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. 

“You’re telling me, the new kid just fell out of the sky? From fictional lala-land?-- and of course it’s a _video game_ \-- This must be some kind of prank on me. I _hope_ it’s a prank on me.”

Sawada scowled, an angry fire in his own gaze. His face was red and his hands were balled into fists. “You saw his file. Explain that.”

Inoue laughed with a forced gusto. “Easy.” The anger still coated her head. The bubble of joy it produced was toxic. Like painful needles pushing into her, deeper and deeper. 

“Daddy’s a big donor to the school. He pulled a quick favor. I’m ashamed to admit it, but it happens in the finest of institutions.”

Kakehashi’s eyes were staring off in dazed horror. Total shutdown. Sawada was gritting his teeth as Inoue continued. 

“Kakehashi Sora is just an everyday rich guy’s kid who's crying out for attention. Playing the meek little transfer student. And now he’s playing you Sawada-- the class coo-coo-lander.”

“You’re wrong!” Sawada yelled, face red. His eyes were enraged and glassy. Commuters stared and gave the group space. Inoue matched Sawada’s anger but with more self-righteousness.

“ _You’re crazy!_ ”

Kakehashi actually jerked his hands to his ears. Inoue bit back her tongue instantly. She wasn’t one to hesitate but there was something about the new kid. He played every vulnerability defense instinct in her body like a fiddle and that was a power she couldn’t resent less. She had to fight.

Inoue released a lungful of air. Settling her thoughts and tone. Readjusting her position defensively but notably calmer. All of her words were directed at Sawada who had the fighting spark in him. 

“I can’t believe you’re gonna make me get proof… I guess I’ll consider it my duty as your Rep.”

“Save yourself the trouble!” Sawada stood in front of the transfer student who was currently in utter silence. Venom on his tongue.

“Noted.” Inoue scowled. 

Looking at it pragmatically, the moment was not completely lost. If there was one thing she could take away from this it was that the new kid was an actual freak and the class annoyance lived up to the gripes and then some. She spared one last glance to Kakehashi. His head was hanging. Absolute defeat. Maybe even more than that… 

Guilt soured her stomach despite herself. _Soft._ He was manipulating everyone’s feelings. 

And if he… god forbid actually believed this story of his… Inoue felt compelled to wake him up from his dream, no matter how good that made him feel. She was used to taking the heat for what is right. It’d be good for him. And if he was lying-- which he probably was-- she was in for sweet justice. He _had_ to be lying...

“Well, this is an afternoon I won’t get back. Have a good weekend you two.” 

And Inoue stormed away.

* * *

It was like suffocating. Fingers scratching raw on a cliffside trying to stay afloat.

_Crazy_

_In_ s _a ne_

_Manipulating_

_Acting_

_Playing dumb_ **_STUPID_ **

_Fictional_

_MADE UP_

**_not real_ **

_pointless_

_PUPPET_

_Show_

[pawn]

C R A Z Y

_Game._

“Sora!”

And for a second it sounded like Goofy’s encouraging laugh was prodding him for a smile. The hands on his shoulders were so much like his. Firm and reassuring. Just looking at him and Donald made him feel warm and loved and protected. He was a part of a set. Their set. 

“Sora?” The voice tried again. 

Sora flicked his eyes to the speaker. His defender. The boy classmate of his that was following him. He called him by name. He saw him. He believed him. He fought by his side. Sora’s heart stirred. Gears in motion. Stretching stiff limbs. Reaching...

“Thank you...”

His words were the vessel for his feelings, spoken slowly. The wind in those sails was hesitant but his sailor’s sight persisted fervently. Sora was usually so good with names but his head was fuzzy. Filled with cotton having been mauled by intrusive thoughts he never before had experienced. 

“Sawada, Sawada Shoto.”

Oh yeah, she called him that. A hand left his shoulder and placed itself firmly before him, palm open. An offering. He stared.

“We hadn’t formally introduced ourselves outside of class… I-I… bet you have questions.”

The spark of joy in his chest was almost painful. It lingered and the smile grew from its nourishment. Unmistakable was the moment. Sora grabbed the hand outstretched before him. Both of them squeezed the handshake too tight. One, starved. A meal after a famine. A friend.

“I’m Sora.”

The other-- vindicated. The pinched cheek of amazement. Real.

“I know.”

* * *

Gnawing. The memory on replay. Her words, an echo. 

She laid flat on her bed, staring at her light fixture until spots peppered her vision. Absolutely still. As still as the new kid crumbling on a Shibuya sidewalk in the wake of her outburst. Her panicked sneers. The too-loud laughs. Sick. She felt sick. 

Inoue launched from her bed and scrambled to the cellphone on her desk. Right next to it was a ripped piece of paper, scribbles along the yellow writing lines. Her notes from the research into Kakehashi.

_If I just…_

Confirm the truth. Call this crazy story for what it is. Punish the schemer. Wake up the dreamer. Calm the denier. 

The cover story churned from her imagination like an algorithm. A student council profile. The request for more information. An apology for the evening call. For the disturbance. No mention of the bribe. Just proof. 

Kakehashi’s mysterious father was behind the number she just dialed. 

And when she pressed ‘call’ it rang four times.

And then…

_[click]_

“Hello?”

-X Continue…?-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a rollercoaster. This chapter is meant to dash one red herring: Sawada isn't the mystery sender, he's just a fanboy. Believing that someone is an actual character from a media you enjoy is a fantasy that an oft scorned fan might be chastised for. Because Sawada has that apprehension, he's not going to be very forward with his curiosity, so it makes him a prime suspect for the present mystery in Sora's sphere. This was a very intriguing dynamic to hash out and one that I encourage you to keep your eye on as Sora has finally made an ally. Like... one in person. A friend! 
> 
> On the other hand, we have the exact opposite in Inoue. If you think she is a raging bitch I am doing my job. This tightwad directly challenges this revelation and makes for an emotionally tumultuous moment. And thus Sora's fears of being crazy are dissolved and slammed over his head in the same scene. Fun times. Keep your eye on her too! God I'm excited, this plot thread only just started.
> 
> But uh... I'm gonna have to go on a break for a bit. The first few months of teaching are all-consuming and until I get a rhythm there is always something I should be doing at any given moment. My queue just ran dry for the time being but I am actively ironing out some details in the story when I'm not able to write. So while I must ask you to wait a little longer for the next chapter I encourage you to reread or spread the word about this story. As always I appreciate your comments and I will be going to them for support as I find the time to write Inoue's conversation with the mysterious beneficiary and see what becomes of Merida's unraveling story at the hands of Xigbar and Aced. 
> 
> Until then, take care!


	10. Unravel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah sorry for the wait. Being a teacher means I should always be doing something other than writing and I'm tired all the time. That also means I think my quality might have a slight drop as I'm not editing at the same intensity but I hope it's serviceable drama. Anyway, please enjoy this slightly longer than average chapter.

“I don’t understand!” Aced’s voice was a snarl and Xigbar could only huff a laugh at his intensity. Once upon a time, Aced was his elder. Now his rash immaturity was clear as day. The flickering torchlight in the castle walls gleamed against his bared teeth. 

“We are sworn to the keyblade. We are to _defend_ the worlds. Whatever you are doing is the exact opposite of that!” The bear mask foreteller pushed his strides aggressively at his brother in training. Xigbar submitted with bemusement, slyly navigating backward past a table clattering with tools, quills, and parchment. Evening light spilled into the tapestry room of the castle and the hearth blazed a complement of colors.

The DuBroch Clan pride hung along the walls of this room. The stitched illustration pieced together a picture of the royal family between strobes of darkness and firelight. A magnificent tapestry of green with intricate embroidery threaded with care and love.

“Now you’re not looking at the bigger picture, Aced.”

“Big picture? Are you mad Luxu?”

Xigbar rolled his eyes, more tired of the conversation than annoyed with the direction.

“Please, this is the only way to bring back the Master. Don’t you want that?”

Aced bit his tongue. A stifled gurgle in his throat. He released an exasperated lung full of air.

“You misunderstand me.” He said. “I am not as enamored with our Master as maybe Ava or Ira. I am no fool to the hindrance his teachings placed on our shoulders.”

“But you are still his disciple. You are here. The prospect of his return holds some kind of value to you.”

Aced lifted his chin up in a mindless defense against his logic. His younger brother-in-training continued.

“Don’t you want to know why the Master shackled you Foretellers with such arbitrary rules? Rules that mean nothing in the face of the threat of the encroaching Darkness? Do you blame him? For the prophecy? Don’t you wish to understand why all of that shameful strife had to happen?”

“Not at this cost!” Aced barked. Xigbar mocked exaggerated surprise at his outburst.

“Cost? Do you even know what is happening?” The eye-patched intruder moved his posture forward, instantly consuming the high ground. Dominance. His next words were ice cold. “Everything in the World is chained to a predestined fate. A destiny that can’t be changed. Sound familiar?”

Aced bared his teeth. Xigbar sneered a grin. That predictable frustration in the bear was just so satisfying. He turned to the tapestry hanging on the wall so proudly. The stitched depiction of the royal family was fictional and idyllic. The perfect example. 

“Every choice that little princess makes is a part of a perfect design. Orchestrated with all the ups and downs and twists and turns witnessed. Even those acts of defiance are a part of her story. An illusion of free will. Her world is woven together like this tapestry. Never able to go beyond the threads of the loom.” 

Xigbar stretched his arms in presentation to the product of tradition and delicate artistry. He stroked his gloved hand across the fabric in admiration. A beautiful thing. Positively gorgeous. 

“By disrupting this ‘order’ we free her. We unlock her entire World.”

Aced jump back as the air crackled to life before Xigbar’s hands and the Gazing Eye bore into him. In one sure motion, Luxu split the tapestry in half with the keyblade in a horrible ripping sound. A family cleaved in half.

“And as we free these Worlds, we free our greater realm. No more destiny.”

The air seemed to vibrate before them. The walls shimmered. Flickered. Unease settled in Aced’s gut. His jaw was slack. His fingers trembled.

“Isn’t that what you wanted Aced? Isn’t that why you worked so tirelessly against the Master’s orders to find the traitor? To forge alliances, throw off the balance of the unions, and service the tension that would later ignite into the war you wanted to avoid? You didn’t know it, but nothing you ever did could have avoided your destiny.”

The bear Foreteller was limp. Realization. Horror weakening his limbs to jelly. Ice coursing in his veins, heavy and slow. His foolish heartbeat fighting against its solid walls with throbbing protests. 

“Without its author. The story can only loop. And that oaf of a bear. The lazy, _feckless_ bear. Unable-- _unwilling_ to fight its destiny. Playing into it. At every. Single. Turn.”

Aced’s voice caught in his throat. That night played in his memory over and over. Like it had happened… over and over again. Rain falling down, hearts falling up. His brethren at the tip of his blade, his men at his feet. His heart screaming behind an impenetrable fort, built for his own protection. Keeping him from the true threat...

Why. Why was this happening? Why did he let this happen? Restart. Try again. Restart. Why?

“You and your inherited will enabled the senselessness. You were a pawn to the end, and you will be a pawn in your sequel.”

No.

The warping concentrated along the tapestry’s frayed threads, the image of the mother broken away from the daughter. Spindles of crystal fiber seeped from the fabric wound like webs. The illustration glitched spastically. 

Xigbar’s eyes shot wide with elation. A laugh of disbelief escaped his grin. 

“ _Well, I’ll be…”_ He murmured as the distortion bowed and buckled. Aced had summoned his keyblade in the brewing storm. Behind the eyes of his bear mask, panicked pupils flickered back and forth. Uncertainty. Fear. Denial. His companion took a step back from the bleeding cut. 

“The Unchained...” He said, staring as the web of fibers built a skeleton of crystal in the tapestry room, “...are possibilities given form. Shells of the lost, given enough light to hide in the fabric of the World but not enough to truly imprint in the hearts of its denizens. Fascinating things don’t you think?”

The Unchained being birthed grew and flickered faintly. A light so delicate and faint. Washed out by its surroundings. 

“It’s just so convenient!” He blurted suddenly. Glee uncontained at this surprising development. “Defy that fate and these creatures find their strength and aid the spiral.”

He seemed overwhelmed with a bout of impatience and he squared himself up to the tapestry. Suddenly Luxu’s keyblade was raking the fabric again and again. Vertical strikes slashing through the face of the daughter, the mother, the father, the children. It frayed into tatters. Demolished scraps of irreparable art and sentiment littered the floor. There was a stifled cackle among the friction of snapping strings.

“How lucky! Did I pinch a nerve?!” Who he was speaking to, Aced couldn’t tell. All he could see was the abomination growing and thrashing. Bulking up, towering over, unsheathing claws, snapping teeth. Luxu throwing his head back between slashes with glee. 

“Did this world need you for the story? Am I messing things up? Or are you just _spinning_ at the endless lost potential in my **big brother**! Lost ideas have to stick together!”

Aced didn’t mean to drop his keyblade, but it shattered onto the ground in an explosion of light. Between the looping horrors of his complicit deeds and the shocking madness of his ally, the Unchained had matured. A massive bear with void-like eyes, made of refracting faces of crystal. Blooming with dim light, the beast filled the tapestry room and crowded Aced, bearing rows of jagged stone teeth rimmed around a pit of nothing. 

_'No wonder you ended up as the bear. You're scary.'_

Why did he have to be this way? What would it take to break free? 

The Unchained’s dim crystal light curled toward Aced. Chains of pure light snaked along his limbs. The Foreteller felt the chains grow taut, and mindlessly took a step closer to the beast. 

“Help me unravel the greater realm Aced. Let’s bring the Master back.”

He was pulled closer. Engraved in the bear’s skin of crystal stone was a heart, flickering with light and pulsing erratically. The chains of energy were snares drawing its doom prey to that empty heart. An unformed idea. Incomplete. Unstable. Aced didn’t fight its jealous pull. It mesmerized him. It was defiance embodied. It was the answer. 

The dim light ignited into a brilliant illumination as Aced’s form was encompassed by the creature. 

The bond was covalent. 

And the two became one. 

* * *

“So… no powers? At all?” Sawada asked the question while tossing a can spat out from a bus station vending machine. Sora caught the drink with one hand, only a slight notion of surprise on his face at the gesture. 

“None.” He confirmed before wiping the condensation of the can on his hoodie. It was the first time he had worn something other than pajamas and his uniform since landing in Shibuya. The hood hanging from his shoulders was a welcome feature.

“Reflexes seem fine,” Sawada commented grabbing his own beverage from the machine. 

“Not really.” Sora took a sip. Contrary to popular belief, Sora was not one to drink a lot of carbonated drinks but that seemed to be the gift to give here. “I don’t think I’m as quick as I was back home… but I’m not sure.”

“I wonder if we should test it.” Sawada mused with a twinkle in his eye. There was a bench in this bus stop, baking in the midday sun. He led the charge in sitting down and Sora followed, letting himself get distracted by the urban setting. There was a row of planted greenery along the walkway for beautification. Sawada jumped with a sudden idea. 

“What about your strength? And like, your skills? You could do crazy things with your keyblade. Backflips! Crazy jumps! Dual-wielding!”

Sora stirred uncomfortably. Trying not to disappoint his new friend's enthusiasm.“I know I’m not as strong. I’ve been tiring easily.”

“Hmm… I guess it makes sense that physics would work against you here… but…” Sawada stood up suddenly, his gaze darting toward the ground in search of something. His sight landed on something at the base of the urban tree and he launched to pick it up.

“Knowledge is something no world can take away from you.” He finished wisely, presenting a thin branch before him. Sora raised a brow in confusion. 

_'Roxas, that’s a stick.'_

Sora pushed down the memory that was not his and tentatively took the branch from Sawada’s hand. He was right. Still knew how to use it, regardless of if his keyblade would not come. 

“Go ahead and give it a couple of swings. Let’s see what you got.”

For some reason, Sora felt butterflies rustle as he glanced around the sparsely populated area. Sawada was waiting anxiously to be wowed. The hollow emptiness in his heart where his real weapon should be ached. He unconsciously fixed his attention on a distant pedestrian and sucked in a breath through his teeth. 

“Are you sure?” He couldn’t help the doubtful lilt of his voice. Sawada huffed a sheepish laugh. 

“Yeah! It’s okay…” Sawada urged with an insistent nod, shifting in a bout of embarrassment. He then failed to brush aside a mindless thought with an awkward chuckle. “The worrying is a little unlike you.”

Sora felt a stab of guilt twist his gut. Was he disappointing Sawada? Was Sawada doubting _him_? The emotions coursing through his heart seemed treacherous. Hesitant, he curled the stick back in the air and willed his muscles to move.

The air whistled with his swipe. 

There was a beat. An underwhelming display clearly. His heart wasn’t in it. 

“... I’m sorry.” Sawada said quietly. “I think I’m being too pushy.”

Sora embarrassed by the pathetic slash of his ‘weapon’ spluttered a defense. His face was red hot. “No no! I’m sorry… I’m just… I don’t know… lost I guess. 

There was a clap on his shoulder. Sawada curled an encouraging smirk. “Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of it. And… we’ll get you home.”

Sora felt the warmth in his heart long after the bus skirted in front of the pair. The bumpy drive to Sawada’s home mimicked the bubble of happiness in Sora’s stomach.

* * *

The massive shire horse tore through the forest, atop its back was a blaze of red hair bouncing along the creature’s bobbing push. The tears of frustration and embarrassment had dried salty tracks along Merida’s round face, her eyes now blaring wide open. Shaking with alarm, the princess darted her gaze left and right through the blurring scenery gasping for air in a panic. 

“Keep moving Angus!” She called towards the horse in shrill desperation. Forgotten was the original source of her fleeing. The horse grunted, resisting nervous attention toward the ground.

Merida yelped for Angus as the strange green creatures shimmered from the earth and swiped at his hooves. Left in the dust of the horse’s breakneck speed, the creatures only retreated into the ground like it was water, preparing to swim ahead to try again. 

“What are these things!?” Merida cried. They were too small and dodgy for her to square a clean shot. Their glowing complexion and sharp appendages were akin to some kind of demon or cursed creature. They spooked Angus to the point that most of her riding strength was curled in her iron grip on his mane. 

These pursuing goblins assaulted her senses with a distinct feeling of wrongness. The air sat wrong around the blur of their form. They glowed and shivered along the ground. Their eyes… an empty horror. Otherworldly, like the fables of ghouls and ghosts in the story, they did little to inspire the theatrical swells of bravery from her youth. 

Her mind went to the image of the eye-patched intruder. His sneer as he diffused her defiant act. The consuming black of his clock. His mocking voice, curling facial expressions, snappy gesticulations. Something was wrong about him too.

Merida’s steed gave a screaming whinny. There was a deafening crack as a tree behind her snapped in half. The archer reflexively looked back and felt her racing heart shoot up her throat.

_Mor’du._

Her brain supplied the name with lightning speed, the horrifying memory of her childhood painting the dark, looming, and murderous beast from that horrible day. That memory had washed out after years by the dramatic retellings in her father’s voice and now the image was refreshed in an instant. The demon bear had returned. 

And it was right behind her.

The beast gave a roar that sounded like screeching glass, bending and ripping and breaking.

But it also sounded like a man. Unbridled rage yelling from human chords but equal to that of a demon, unlike the pure animal from her nightmares. It was tearing through the trees, striking them with massive claws, their cascading demolition clattering, rustling, breaking as it launched itself off the ground to keep up with the powerful horse before it.

Her own scream was stuck in her throat as she tore herself away in focus of her escape. Rows of forest zipped past and the path curled and twisted, the exit was only growing darker. 

**_“NEVER AGAIN!”_ **

The beast bellowed behind the racing princess. And another tree fell at its savage tirade. Unfamiliar. Chilling. Wrong.

WRONG

Baffled by the words so clearly anguished through the trees Merida faced Mor’du, blind fear stripping her rational mind clean. 

_It wasn’t Mor’du._

WRONG

The beast was human in stature and animal in motion. Cloaked in tan robes which were encased in legions of pulsing yellow and black crystals that sprouted from its thrashing arms like massive claws. Its face was encircled by the unnatural stone shaped like a vicious maw of razor-sharp teeth. It was a monster. 

“ **_NEVER AGAIN!”_ ** It roared again and tore closer and closer to her horse’s panicked dash. Around it, the world seemed to buckle under the strain. The earth warped. The air compressed. Like it was an abomination in every sense of the word.

A helpless instinct in Merida brought her bow into her shaking hands. But the speed of her horse gave her nothing to hold onto. The undrawn arrow wove between her desperate fingers and horsehair

Angus lost his footing to the earth’s distorted weakness. 

And Merida went flying off her trusted steed. She crashed in a heap against the roots of the ancient trees. The pain and aching agony squeezing her body and head. Her mind kept her painful body awake as the threat loomed over her, panting heavily.

From this angle, she could see a bear mask underneath the crystal, cracked and chipping away to reveal sharp fearful eyes. It held a hand out and the air ignited into light.

In its hands was a blade, shaped like a giant key. 

“ **_Never again._ **” It said, voice still laced in the breaking glass. And it pointed the tip at her. 

Deep within Merida was an unfathomable instinct. A clenching defense as the wind around her picked up, pushing out before her. A primal lurch in her chest reverberating within her like her very being was digging roots into her body. Into her world. Into everything. Bracing for the unraveling. The wind grew sharper. Angry. Aggressive.

Intentional.

“ _GET AWAY FROM HER!_ ” Another voice screamed and suddenly the creature was bodily rammed into from the side at incredible speed.

The bear stumbled to the ground, the blade in its hands clattering out of its claws as a blur of gold rallied a series of assaulting blows with a bronze weapon she couldn’t even see. There was a battle cry and the wind picked up around the two in a cyclone. The large enemy, staggered, was lifted off the ground and thrown into another tree where it crumpled in a heap of pulsing light. 

Her savior held a wide stance with his back to her, panting vigorously. He had windswept blond hair and layers of black and white clothes. Bronze armor decorated his body in an unorthodox manner. With the beast still, he spared a glance to Merida who took in his sky blue eyes still blazing with fury.

Who was he? What was that thing? Those questions didn't have time to breathe.

The beast was on its feet and hurling toward the savior who held his weapon up defensively. A sharp clatter rang out as the bear’s claws curled around the strange weapon’s teeth. He grunted against the force pressing against him, arms shaking as the bear used its impressive stature and strength to overwhelm him.

The golden-haired boy relented with a parry, sending the beast forward and striking it on the back. It retaliated with a swipe at his feet that knocked him to the ground. He hit the earth hard and Merida made a wordless protest despite her bodily pain. Once again, the beast curled over the smaller victim, brandishing claws instead of its strange blade.

“Ven!” Another voice cut through and suddenly a large sword was flung at the bear-person, hitting it square in the head. A newcomer caught the projectile and assumed a defensive stance alongside the golden-haired boy rising to his feet. 

He was taller, with earth brown hair and broad shoulders-- just as strangely dressed.

“Terra!” The younger boy exclaimed with a relieved smile.

“Take care of the girl!” He ordered and the boy nodded. 

With that, this Terra charged at the beast dashing at it with a wealth of power. A clash ensued with a vicious back and forth between claw and blade. This left the first boy to stumble toward the site of Merida’s agony.

“Are you okay?” The boy’s voice was kind, trembling with concern for her safety. Merida heard herself grunt as an attempt to sit up was made. Instantly the blond-haired boy was by her side. “Whoa! Whoa! Steady!”

He put a firm grasp around her shoulders and helped her sit up from her uncomfortable heap. She was distracted by the battling warrior behind him. He spared a glance as well but completed his assistance.

“We have a second.” He said quickly, examining her injuries. He reached for his weapon laid behind him which she suddenly recognized as some kind of bronze key-shaped blade. In one motion he flourished his blade above her and a bath of green light swept through her. 

She was speechless as the pain vanished instantly and strength crowded her muscles. 

“Y-you have magic!” She stuttered. Legends of witches and sorcerers simmered the outskirts of her mind with some phantom of excitement. The wind must have been at his command as well. 

“Among other things” The stranger’s smile beamed and Merida sat up on her own strength. He put a hand forward before her. “My name is Ventus. You can call me Ven.”

With the return of her strength, Merida felt her senses slowly return, but her emotions were still running high. She ignored the gesture of friendship and kept her cautious gaze on the battle, steadily growing distant. 

“Explain what is going on, Ventus.” Merida couldn’t help the sharpness creep in her voice in response to the fear.

Ventus gave a pitying glance and rose from his crouch. “That guy is bad news.” 

Merida almost heard her patience snapped her into a more familiar version of herself. “ _Yeah, I got that._ What is that blasted thing!? What does it want?! _”_

Ventus stepped back but couldn’t help raise a hand of cautioning support as the girl stumbled to her feet, surprised that the return to strength didn’t gather her bearings. She practically slapped him away.

“I’m not… _er…_ All I can say is that he’s an intruder… and it seems like he’s after you.” 

“Why me?” She countered and suddenly she remembered something important with a gasp. “ _Angus!”_

She darted her head around in search of her horse who fell in the area. The panic was almost equal to her mortal peril before as her friend was out of sight. 

“Your horse is safe!” Ventus interjected, but eyed the threat behind him. “I saw him running off that way.”

Relief spilled from her in a large exhale. Overwhelmed, Merida tried to push past Ventus in front of her. “ _I have to find him._ ”

“You’re not well yet,” Ventus pushed back blocking her with firm concern. “We need to get you home.”

“No!” Merida’s response was knee-jerk. It was an instinctive answer but driven by the recent memory of that bulls-eye arrow squared in the target of her fate. 

It was a floodgate after that. Captivity. Her fate. Stubborn defiance. The reason for this escape. For some reason, it pressed against her heart so insistently. Those wrong creatures, the terrifying beast now battling Ventus’s ally beyond the thick trees-- they were nothing to the fate that suffocated her very life away. It pushed any lingering panic out of her and replaced it with simmering anxiety. Uncomfortable. 

“I need to… find a way to change my fate.” She declared in a disconnected daze. 

“Fate?” Ventus raised a brow, baffled at the sudden lack of sense in the girl he rescued. “There’s a monster after you! Let’s find you someplace safe at least!”

“Get outta my way!” She pushed past him with a stagger. “You can’t make me go back home. Not until I’ve changed it!”

“Changed what?” Ven pressed grabbing onto her arm as she passed. He was not ignorant of the fact that Terra was on his own battling the great threat from earlier. He wanted nothing more than to tear away and help him but the mission his brother gave him was in peril by the charge herself. 

Merida’s nostrils flared at Ven’s grip. “ _My fate.”_ She barked, getting into his face. “I am tired of living my life for other people. People who never ask what _I_ want and try to make me into them.”

She jerked her arm out of Ven’s hands. Ven’s brow curled up and his voice clenched with sympathy. “Who could ever do that to you?”

The blazing redhead pulled a branch from her mane angrily. “ _My Mother_.” She spat before adding ruefully “--the queen.”

Ventus blinked in surprise. “That’s... complicated.” Worked up, the princess wrung her fist along her mess of curls and let her feelings come to the surface.

“She’s never there for me. This marriage is what _she_ wants. She doesn’t care about what I want at all.” And Ven’s heart broke for her anguish and he heaved a sigh.

“It sounds like…” Ven spoke up after a silent moment. “That you should tell her what you’re feeling.” 

Merida gave a scoff that surprised Ven. “ _She doesn’t listen!_ I’m stuck like this. It’s my fate unless I can find some way to change that. Maybe that means never coming back!”

“--P-Princess--”

“-- _Merida”_

“ _Merida--,"_ Ven corrected himself. “Running away isn’t the answer. Believe me. Running from your problems only lets them hurt more people.”

“Maybe I don’t care.” She spat. And Ven practically saw the brilliant light in her heart flicker in the anguish of that lie. She was the exact opposite of that. So proud and steadfast. Compassion was trying to grow into the illustration of her heart in excess. She stormed along the forest path in finality, Ven watched her with a knot in his stomach, knowing how unsafe it was out here for her-- a Princess of Heart. 

A few steps away was the bow she had grasped in her hands during the chase. 

Merida picked up the weapon with her mouth in a thin line as it revealed the wood snapped clean in half from her landing. A piece of the wood slipped from her grasp, still tethered to the bowstring between them and now dancing in the suspension of the reins. Her fingers trembled.

Merida threw the bow on the ground with angry tears. “Just great!” She cried, her face unable to contain the emotional turmoil of a loss like that. She choked on a sob that suddenly overwhelmed her. She held her mouth back and another sob rolled through her.

Ventus’s heart spurred him into motion and-- careless to her preferences-- he wrapped his arms around her. She was cold to the affection but didn’t outright resist it. Something about the proximity was a comfort in the whirlwind of a day. 

“It isn’t fair.” She pouted in the helplessness. She was just a kid. 

“I know,” Ven said with pain in his voice, knowing all too well that truth. 

A shiver of motion caught his eye during this hug. The remnants of the bow flickering. Oozing some kind of light that shimmered onto the grass below it. Ven took Merida’s anguished form in his hands and nudged her a step away from the strange phenomenon. 

From the bow--broken by the wrong person-- crystal abominations sprung. 

[Loading...]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, Ven's like screaming in his head that this girl needs to get over her problems cause his buddy is soloing a rabid furry. 
> 
> Okay. Lots happening. Aced's gone crazy. Call back to the Prologue. We are getting to see what happens when the World Order is repeatedly assaulted. Sora and Sawada are getting some bonding time as friends and I get to quote the best line from Days. And then like... rabid furry man. I've grown rather fond of Aced in a short amount of time writing this. He's like... a very earnest individual but he's not a yes man like the other Foretellers. I'm excited for the opportunity to delve into his guilt and stuff. Ven and Terra are in the picture as well so we finally have some protagonist power in the B plot. 
> 
> I used a good chunk of my long weekend on this and while I will still chip away at the next chapter, I don't know when. Pray that the khux updates and incoming re:mind stuff doesn't absolutely destroy my motivation. I tend to fall into rabbit holes with theory crafting. Anyway, your comments are appreciated. Like... I live for them. I will refer to them for motivation as I work on the next chapter.


	11. Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna try to make this longer to compensate for the wait but I decided it was more important to just get this out there. Fortunately, I got a chance to edit this so I feel better about the quality of the content. As a reminder, I am a teacher and it's a challenge to balance my time to write around the lesson planning and other stuff.

The hearth was popping and spitting even after hours unsupervised. A sound like the slow creeping cracks on a porcelain vase unable to take the pressure anymore. It threw angry shadows along the tapestry room where stood a figure out of place. 

The stranger was draped in a loose white cloak, standing before the room's namesake. At their feet was the horrible sight of the piece of art in tatters. Scraps of thread and cloth peppered the floor around their black boots. Like a dusting of out-of-season snow. 

The face of a mother was frayed in the ruins. Liquid light still oozed from its tears and the distortions flickered every so often. A peculiar sight. A disturbing anomaly. 

But it was the stench that drew the stranger to these rags.

There was a heavy clatter in the distance. It tore the cloaked figure from the sickening sight and they darted out of sight.

“Merida…”

A shrill voice called from behind the thick wood door, echoing along the walls of the castle. A name, spoken like a prayer on worried lips. “Merida. You better have returned or I swear--”

The door to the tapestry room swung open dramatically. Iron slamming into stone. Queen Elinor stood with red-faced regality, a slight hair out of place from a bout of frantic searching. Her neck was taut with anxiety curling her muscles. He brow was permanently furrowed from the day of hostility. Perhaps there were more strands of grey along her long brown hair. She had aged in hours by the grace of her daughter’s rebellion. The idea that the heiress would have deserted the kingdom entirely was knocking on her panicked brain like a screaming banshee.

Her eyes fell on the strips of tapestry on the ground and she felt her heart stop. 

“ _Oh,”_ The stern woman expelled in a weak voice. It was like something had reached into her chest to squeeze her heart. The queen felt it hard to breathe. “Oh my…”

And she was faint with the horrifying sight. Her knees buckled and her regal gown hit the floor. She released a wail of grief.

The stranger, concealed, bore witness to this woman of power sobbing at the senseless destruction. Her love and hard work, the emblem of her family-- destroyed. There was poetry in that symbol that spoke to the truth in foreboding ways. The bystander clenched at their heart.

“Merida.” The queen rose from her hiccups breathless, possessed by a haunting thought. “Merida!” 

And her voice was a cry, bringing her to her feet. Her heart pulled her. She hiked her dress up and scrambled out of the tapestry room, face still stained with salty tears. 

The cloaked intruder was careful not to step on a single thread as the worried mother raced to the stables. 

* * *

A beast.

The memories of his heart were vague impressions. His sentience at the time was almost nonexistent, like a haze of smoke. When Terra’s heart was imprisoned by Xehanort, he felt nothing but blind rage and constricting bindings over his monstrous body and mouth. Silenced and seething. At the mercy of another inside his overwhelming darkness. 

Those chains. The gag. The irrefutable command to submit. The ever-present, never-ceasing reminder that he once turned his back on what was right and good and the consequence had a vice grip that would never let him forget. 

Powerless. Terra knew that his father’s faith in him and the burning light of his friends were the reason his heart could power his keyblade today. Grateful was his every breath after his liberation. So as he stared into the crazed expression of the shackled beast before him, panting in an exerted effort against the claws of crystal laced around his defending blade, he saw himself. He felt pity. 

And then the bear-like creature summoned a keyblade of his own. An earthy blade like a curling boulder. Engraved in ancient symbols. A keychain shaped as a chilling blue iris dangling from its hilt. It hulked in the creature’s claws, suddenly swinging with the weight of a mountain. 

“Never again!” It screamed in a garbled tone. Terra was knocked back at the immense force of the blade. He fell to the ground in tandem with the teeth of the weapons haphazard crash into the earth. 

_One day, I will set this right._

The resonance was overwhelming. Terra stood up with his teeth bared. Determined to fight out of instinct alone. Nevertheless, Ends of the Earth slacken from his stance with the welling question in his throat. 

“Why do you have the keyblade?” He called out. Years had passed since his apprenticeship but the number of wielders was still too small. There were no strangers among the ranks of key keepers. 

The question enraged the beast. And that boulder of a blade lashed out at remarkable speeds, slashing in fury and putting Terra on the defense. That’s when the mouth-like teeth of the blade caught Terra shoulder between his armor. Like a snare, the adversary yanked him back to the ground, placing a claw on his other shoulder to keep him down. Pinned, Terra flinched back fruitlessly as the man gave a garbled roar. 

_“NEVER AGAIN!”_ There was anguish in his words that he hadn’t heard earlier. But that was all it said. As mindless as a heartless. Was this what it was like to look at a heart once full of promise (the promise of a keyblade)? 

Disappointing? 

Frustrating.

“‘Never-- _WHAT_?!” Terra yelled back with a furious snap. He grabbed the claw and with brute strength alone he slowly pried it off his shoulder. His arms shook in the war and Terra found the creature’s eyes crazed and pleading behind the film of crystal. 

Terra caught his breath. 

And the Ends of the Earth crashed into the side of the bear, knocking him back.

“I can tell you are hurting!” He pleaded, rising to his feet. Underneath, there was a man. A wielder in that growth of hardened light. He had to reach him. He had to pry the bindings from his mouth. 

“If you are filled with regret, let me bear your burden!” He continued. As he spoke the enemy verbally balked, warbled grunts from denial or anger. The emotions too much for his heart to contain until we snapped a physical response. 

The bear charged forward once again, blade swinging like blinding fast wrecking balls. Terra was forced to alternate between the offense and defense. This expense of energy he gave speaking to him was on unfounded grounds. It was a fire in his heart pushing him to make this case. To try to reach this insanely powerful but mad wielder. 

_Submit!_

_Come, Guardian!_

Submit

“Come to your senses!” Terra cried. Allowing his blade to crack the earth with an earthquake spell that landed the beast in surprise. 

And the beast couldn’t see Terra after that. He only saw a woman with the mask of the snake, crying out against his rampage. “ _You need to come to your senses!”_ She had screamed in the heat of their battle. The battle he fought… so pointlessly. There was nothing he could have done to stop the darkness. His attempts to even try simply ushered in that horrible fate.

In all the anger and denial, there was shame.

(Shame like a shrieking knife on the window.)

“I…” The bear’s voice cracked like an unoiled door hinge as it shook off a dusting of earth from Terra’s attack. “...refuse fate…” 

Terra held back his follow-up swing. 

“Who are you?” He asked after a moment of silence. Something must have ebbed in the energy of this opponent. Terra took a step forward but kept the grip on his blade cautiously firm. 

“I… am… Aced. Master Aced.” 

Human sentience and human name. Aced, cloaked in abominable light seemed to stare into space. 

“Master?” Terra breathed in surprise and suddenly he squared in on the keyblade that ravaged him moments before. Mortal dread was a shiver through his core. The sneaking suspicion that the mad strength opposing him was an unfocused lethal threat blared in the hindsight. A keyblade master was a force to be reckoned with. But…

“How?” There were no masters beyond Riku, the King, and Aqua. No one to grant a title. 

The keyblade master’s face was unreadable, surrounded by the bear mask and crystal coating. His mouth was a line. 

“I couldn’t tell you.” Aced sounded detached. Wounded. A stark difference to his impassioned screams from before. He had yet to even square his gaze at Terra.

Terra resisted the spike of anger at the apathy. “Well, maybe you could tell me why you are attacking that girl.”

Aced looked off in an adjacent direction like he just remembered he left something behind. 

“The Princess… is a pillar.”

A pillar to the Realm of Light. Even the most passing interaction keyed Terra into her status. She was impossibly radiant. Any darkness in her heart was cast from her mortal shell. 

“She is innocent,” Terra responded to the master-turned-creature with an angered sneer. It didn’t even matter that she was a bastion to all the light in their world, she was uninvolved and harmless. The senselessness was driving Terra’s fury to blindness.

“She is.” Aced agreed easily. “She doesn’t deserve this.” 

Only now was the manner of the creature’s response starting to unsettle Terra. He had little control over the sparks of irritation that kindled at the strangeness. The light pulsing from the bear was a violent flash, but the heartbeat pounding was slower. Sleepy. 

“ _Then why_!? You wield a Keyblade! You are a defender of this realm!”

Aced looked at his keyblade as though regarding it for the first time. Perhaps legend painted the key that way. Because like a bird in its cage the possibility to live more than this was scary. The unknown stoked such deadly fear and kept the imprisoned in their place. Fate strapped them down and made the key a pathetic plaything.

“She doesn’t deserve… captivity. No one does.”

And Aced curled his fingers tighter. The doubt that was swimming in his mind, the possibility given life from the parasite on his heart was ebbing away. The fear of uselessness. Of doing nothing. Sloth. It ached on its way out. And how empty it felt in its wake. 

The roots of light dug deeper in chorus. It etched branches of possibilities into his heart, destroying the foundation of memories, mangling the light of his very being. Clarity of mind. Aced came to a realization.

“ _Liberation…_ ”

He had been going at this wrong.

Aced dropped any semblance of combative stance the keyblade forced him with instinctually. The blade vanished on the spot in a flurry of lights. And with that, the master, with a distant glaze in his posture, walked. So directly and precise, he crossed the space of his recent battle. His opponent stunned as those words from before miraculously found his ears.

“Never again.” A determined whisper as he walked past Terra. 

Never again would fate decide.

Terra watched the opponent abandon him abruptly in confusion. Where was he going? Liberation? ‘Never-- _what’_? Captivity? There was an instinct in his heart that was potent and bitter, but foreign. Follow him. Stop him. Stop him. Stop him. 

The princess was in danger.

“Wait!” He called after the master. 

But the trees had quickly swallowed him. Aced, was nowhere to be found. Terra’s breath shivered. His heart pulled him in search of his comrade. 

* * *

The streets of the castle village were in chaos.

The streets pattered with the shameless shuffles of gossiping hens running from home to home to speak of the newest update on the missing princess drama. Guests from the event were boisterously confused and unruly some of the men taking to the town to complain loudly to the torchlight merchantry. The sounds from the rioting castle halls could be heard from behind the stone fortress. It tainted the air with tension and unease. 

What they couldn’t hear was the beat-less music of the snapping strings under the surface. The ropes of a bridge detaching in an instant, the tension vibrating along the entire world. They had yet to notice the earth glitching as a symptom. The physical embodiment of reality recoiled like a frantic animal backed into a corner. Losing ground. It stirred primal anxiety in the villager's hearts as their lights wavered against each other. 

And Xigbar could only sigh as he strolled through it. He was far too good at watching. He skirted around a distorted patch in the air like dodging a muddy puddle. A waltz.

In the process of doing so, he felt himself bump into a small form. 

“Excuse me.” He said politely, a standard smile plastered on his face to be pacifistic.

“You should keep your eye open, stranger. That shouldn’t be too hard, you only have one to care for after all.”

The voice sounded as old as Xigbar felt. It summoned a genuine laugh from his gut before he could even register the speaker. 

“I actually see quite well, believe it or not.” Xigbar purred. The old woman he was now speaking to was vaguely familiar. Someone from the merchant shops during the festival? Unlike her peers, she was in light spirits a smile on her crackly old lips as he defended his pride.

“Maybe with what you want to see. But when you have expectations, even the _smaaallest_ things can slip past you.”

That rose another chuckle. The quirky old woman had a comically wry expression, a brow raised in a knowing manner. Her eyes were crazed and expecting. Positively charming. It was such a pity. “Hey, I said sorry.” He raised his hands in surrender. 

And in easy rapport, the merchant woman gave a hearty laugh. “Ha ha! Just teasing you! Of course, you’re sorry. We are _all_ sorry!”

It was Xigbar’s turn to raise a brow. “Sorry for what now?” He wasn’t one for conversation with locals. But he decided that he liked her.

“Oh nothing nothing!” She deflected waving her spinny fingers through the air, the other hand grabbing at what appeared to be a heavy tote filled with wooden figures. “Well-- _I hope_ everyone is sorry for not buying any of this humble widdler’s carvings! No appreciation for art. They’d rather _tear up tapestries_ then ask for a little levity in their chambers.”

Xigbar allowed himself a moment of perplexity at the keen metaphor, but the personality in front of him was still going.

“So much _pride_ in these shoppers. Makes you wonder how the _wrong_ _sin_ tore it!” She snapped that last line with a cackle as though talking about a collective societal annoyance they were helpless to bare.

Luxu felt the flutter of amusement grow into bubbly satisfaction. How interesting...

“And who’s to say which sin is the right one?” He asked poetically. A little fun in this teasing exchange. 

“A prince with some serious issues that’s what!” She responded, not missing a beat. In the process, she had whipped out what looked like a bear figurine from her bag. It had become a prop to her gesticulations. “A surly customer back then and now everyone's still the same! These kinds of things stick around until _someone_ else mends it.”

“And whatever happened to this prince?” Luxu was known by his peers for his curiosity. He resembled his master in that manner. 

“Oh, he couldn’t _bear_ being powerless.” She barked a sudden cackle of amusement. “Asked for the strength of ten men! Wanted to take down his own family. You could say he is succeeding as we speak.”

“Sounds like fate.” Xigbar felt the grin one only gets when they are undeniably right. 

But the old woman just waved her hand away. “ _Bah_ , more like poor business!” 

“Don’t believe in fate?” 

She gave him a pointed look. Coming from her crazy bug eyes was irony in its finest. “The sun rises. Food cost money! Yer family is gonna tell you what to do! An eyepatched stranger is likely to bump into small humble witches walking down the street! Some call it fate, I call it fact.”

Xigbar exploded into gut bouncing laughter. There was as much power as there was ignorance in that answer. And _that_ was the philosophy of a powerful denizen. You had to admire the stupidity. “That’s rich!” He said between chortles. It was such a pity a heart like this was fated to be unraveled with the rest of this world.

The merchant woman straightened during his expression of amusement. “Perhaps the right sin _did_ tear it.” She adjusted the bag on her shoulder once again with a smug look on her face. “Or at the very least a _cheap imitation_ of it…” Xigbar let his laugh fizzle. His sudden conversation was showing signs of departure as the woman took a step toward her original direction. 

“Now, remember to watch where you’re walking. We wouldn’t want you running into trouble.” She tapped at her eye where Xigbar’s eye-patch was mirrored. A reference to her unsolicited wisdom at the start of this exchange. 

The witch was already hobbling down the road when Luxu responded softly. “Oh, I will.”

 _‘Mend the tapestry.’_ He hummed thoughtfully. 

Such a specific image to summon, but a clear answer to the surprising Unchained his actions had created. This world was fated to right an ancient wrong. It was always more than a domestic dispute between mother and daughter. As he had hoped, there were always greater powers at work around them. Poetry in motion. Confirmation.

The woman was a speck across the town square when a panting herald of the kingdom tore through the streets. He skidded to a halt by an alarmed gaggle of uneasy villagers chatting. He took a comical gasp of air before shouting at the top of his lungs. 

“ _The queen is gone!_ ” _The queen is pursuing her daughter!”_

There was a moment of silence as the messenger fought for air in frazzled huffs. 

And then the crowd broke into a chaotic rabble. Whispers and exclaims of concern. Their queen had left her station. Forced out by the rebellious behavior of her daughter. 

Xigbar settled back into his heels. Fate was trying to right itself. That relationship yearned to mend the tapestry he had destroyed.

All the while, a cursed prince stirred. Waiting for no one. 

* * *

The creatures of light collapsed around the Ven’s keyblade in a manner unlike the heartless. While those bodies of darkness snapped into pieces and released their captive hearts like a liberating prison, the unchained seemed to shatter into itself, imploding before the energy expelled in rejection. Ven was growing more accustomed to their patterns of erratic motion several leagues into their search for the princess’s noble steed. 

Merida gave a frustrated shriek after another infesting creature met its fate at the end of Ven’s blade.

“This is impossible!” She gave an overwhelmed tug at her hair. “- _-Angus!_ ” She called once again, the tears about to return. “Angus, you oaf of a horse come back!”

Ventus felt his anxiety spike at his companion’s emotions. Calming her down just moments ago took seconds he didn’t want to spare. He needed to find Terra. He needed to keep her safe. This was an absolute mess. 

“We’ll find him Merida.” Ven offered calmly, with only a slight pinch. “He just got scared, it’s understandable.”

“Those demons…” She said with harrowing possibilities on her tongue. “... they aren’t right. I-I… don’t blame him.”

Ventus had to agree. There was something foundationally wrong in those creatures. They flickered and glitched. Like the world itself was rejecting it. There was no question that they were a force for someone like Ven to take care of regardless of him never having seen them before. Not that Merida would be able to zero in on the specifics as to why, but it was clear they were nothing close to a native demon from her realm should they exist or not. 

But the princess stopped at a sudden idea.

“ _Are_ they my fault?”

“What?”

“Are those demons… Are they here because of me?” Merida turned around in their woodland trek to square down Ventus.

Caught off guard, Ven flubbed in his nerves. 

“I-I don’t know.” They seemed to be after her at the very least. “We can’t be sure.”

“It _is_ .” Merida seemed to balk at this assumed answer. Suddenly beside herself in frustration, Merida threw her arm in anger. “Is _this_ fate? For me choosing who gets _my hand?_ ” 

Ven wasn’t sure this connection was all that logical, but anger was better than despair in this case. The red-head was curling her fingers, itching to hit or throw something in her fit.

“They should have just kept me locked up in a tower for all I care!” Merida shrieked. “No, I get the wrath of the gods for wanting a little _freedom_! _Thanks_ _mum_!

And suddenly Ven was struck by the familiar emotions from this heart. Held back, confined against her will, by nature of her unique station. 

For Ventus, it was more about his unique Station _of Awakening_ than position in life. 

The pity was undeniable. This princess was a slave to her responsibilities. Burdens enforced by someone she loves… The sick stone in his throat he felt while holding the departing spirit of the father who wronged him returned without warning. The way he had to stifle his uncontrollable sobs as he spoke his last words to him was like self suffocation. His master had pointed his blade at him. This man he loved, who cared for him and healed and trained him, had been so overcome with fear that it blinded him. Passing time had stirred the regret in the repentant man. The relief of receiving his apology was almost more painful to Ventus than any betrayal. 

His master wasn’t infallible. He had made a mistake. 

“Maybe, your mother was scared.” Ven offered to his own surprise, detached. Was he defending this woman he never met? Projecting? Wishing?

“Scared?” Merida scoffed. “Scared of losing control of me. She’s… supposed to care about me.”

It was like seeing himself from another perspective. The rage and confusion and betrayal. It was vivid and helpless. Merida’s obvious pain dug spires of anguish in Ven’s own heart. He didn’t want this for her. Nothing was worth this. 

Eraqus kept Ven from the world because he was a weapon. That fear was so gripping and harrowing that the master could even bring himself to destroying his own child. His father wanted to kill him. When that old man’s fears were finally realized, Ven’s heart had cracks untouched by his self-sacrificing battle with Vanitas. 

And when he embraced his son in departing guilt, those wounds ached and bled. Salvation was forever escaping with Eraqus’ passing spirit. 

How could he do that to him? He was supposed to care. 

“Maybe that’s all she knows,” Ven answered his mouth a devil’s advocate. He wasn’t sure he believed his own words. All he knew was the sadness looking at that lone master’s keyblade in the ground symbolized a loss greater than his own scars. He wanted understanding. He wanted better. He wanted the chance.

“Are you saying I should pity her? I’m not her doll Ventus.” Merida looked scandalized by his suggestion. 

But if… he hadn’t run off when Terra stormed away. If he trusted his master and listened and told him his feelings… maybe none of this would have happened. The master wouldn’t have felt the need to destroy him. He’d still be alive. That keyblade would be within the cold light of his thriving and loving heart instead of in the cold earth surrounded by enchanted flowers. 

“No no…” Ven argued and he spoke to truth his own wish. “I’m just saying… you could… fix this. It’s possible.” 

Merida’s nostrils flared. “My mother sent you.” She accused in a shaking voice. 

And it suddenly occurred to him how foolish this heart-to-heart was. His stomach dropped.

“No. Merida, she didn’t.” He spoke too fast. The fear poured into the moment like breaching floodgates. The creatures. Terra. The princess of heart. The world seemed to undulate around her.

“I can’t believe her.” Merida stewed, tears once again pricking her eyes. “She couldn’t even try to bring me back herself.” 

“No no-- she didn’t send me.”

As if to threaten Ven’s fears, the earth distorted in the telltale sign of those enemies. Although, nothing surfaced.

Was she forgetting her pursuer? The disturbing creatures at her heels? It was like her heart was frantically pushing out the fear and discomfort the anomalies brought with the overflow of turmoil within it. At all costs. The Order was asserting itself with fumbling bandages.

Merida threw herself off the path they had been walking. The trees trembled unnaturally. Ven felt nauseous.

“ _No, wait!_ ”

“--go away Ventus!” She screamed back, kicking the skirt of her dress with raging steps as though confined by chains. 

“ _Merida_!” He yelled. And just as his leg muscles coiled to release his proud speed, the princess broke into a blind run into the dark woods.

And behind her, the world literally ripped in half. 

Ven gave a startled scream, stumbling over his false start, stopping only a hairs length from an endless drop.

Reality distorted around an oozing gash in the air. With it, the sound of a woven tapestry ripping. Light flaked and dripped around the tear, slowly creeping along the earth. A mesmerizing dance of colors and lights vortex within the crack the princess created. Like a galaxy of endless impossible threads of ideas.

Eyes wide and body frozen, Ven stared at the world’s wound in abject horror.

“ _Ven_!” Not even the voice of his dear friend could knock Ven from his petrified stupor. Terra’s own register of the sight was delayed and only stood to mirror his. 

“ _What in the world?_ ” Terra’s voice hitched. The grotesque had an unwavering grip on the attention. He couldn’t look away. 

“Ven.” He had never heard Terra sound so scared. “Where’s the princess?”

Ven pointed at the wound in reality with a shaking finger. It was wrong. Wrong. 

Wrong

WRONG 

**_W R O N G_ **

Ven felt a scream clawing in his throat because there was something coming from the unholy gash in the world.

A call. A message, clear as day but wild and unnatural. Like a siren song reflecting in the very foundation of his heart. A shift in gravity. Vertigo seizing his stomach. A sensation as simple as twitching his finger.

_Jump_

The sensation to jump.

The tangible probability that he _could_ just walk forward and unravel in the cosmic dust. It was possible. The sick curiosity that pried at his skin, made him feel loose and wobbly. He never felt his mortal shell more keenly. 

“Snap out of it Ventus!” Like a rock in the storm. Terra’s impassioned yell brought Ven back like a slap in the face. Tearing away from the sight was enough to cancel the overwhelming dominance of that horrifying temptation.

“The other keyblade wielder… his name is Aced.” He breathed, physically pushing Ven backward away from the abomination. He then summoned his keyblade with a determined jerk of his arm. “He’s a Master. I don’t know how, but he’s intelligent. Not mindless like those smaller creatures.”

Terra then threw his keyblade abruptly, willing it to transform. His bike, hovered before them.

“He’s after some kind of ‘liberation’. I-I don’t understand it but we have to stop him.”

Terra then grabbed Ventus’ still shocked form in his arms and carried him to his vehicle. 

“We have to hurry. _This World is ripping apart.”_

-Loading....X-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The call of the void~ Watch out Ven. You might pop some seams walking into that. 
> 
> As I said, I wanted to give you more than another setup but I had to weigh my options. Even so, this chapter aims to establish some themes with the character and do some logistics. Now one has to wonder how the heroes are going to fix this remarkable mess. 
> 
> Also, the hardest scene I've ever had to write is Xigbar talking to that damn witch. Here I am trying to lay down some ideas when --Oh yeah she's this quirky chaos spirit incarnate-- try harder with the characterization Kit. Considering the pain, I think it's ok enough. A funny match up for sure. 
> 
> Finally, thank you all for your patience. I wish I could churn these chapters out weekly. If I had the time, there would be no doubt I could. In the meantime, every Kudo and Comment drives me to the word doc with eager passion. I feel the most like myself when I am writing, so thank you for pushing me towards that. Your words are so important to me. Until next time!


	12. Dream

< _ Miss me?> _

Sora snuck a glance at his pinging phone while Sawada explained the pros and cons of this particular bus route. He was only partly listening as the sight of the city scrolling along the window was hypnotizing. When he heard the short ping he practically jumped in surprise, a thrill shocking his system. It had felt like forever since Anon had last mailed him but it wasn’t long in retrospect. Right around yesterday’s encounter with Sawada and Inoue had Sora actually heard from the mysterious sender. In fact his last message had gone unanswered.

There was a lot to fill Anon in on. 

“Who’s that?” Sawada asked peering over Sora’s shoulder. If the following fiasco hadn’t occurred Sora would have still understood this curly haired gamer to be extremely nosy. He didn’t really mind it though. 

“Oh, I’m talking to Anon. They’ve been helping me.”

Sawada made an outrageous face that surprised Sora into a semblance of defense.

“‘ _ Anon?’  _ \--as in, ‘Anonymous?’ Uhh does this guy have a weird sense of humor or has he not actually told you his name?”

“No, it’s not what they go by, I just… call them Anon. They never told me their name…”

Sawada physicalized his reaction. Sora flinched as his new friend's voice rose in decibels. 

“ _ Wait wait, back it up _ … are you telling me you are conversing with a mysterious nameless stranger and you never once asked for their name?  _ Do they know who you are? _ ”

He said the last question lower and with more afterthought. Nevertheless, the three other pedestrians on the bus had their heads turned. Scrambling, Sora shooed the thought with his hands.

“Not so loud!” He protested before continuing. “Yes, okay? I tried once but it never came up after that. They helped me out a ton and I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“I have questions.”

“And I’ll explain the best I can,” Sora promised. Sawada moved the subject from there, satisfied with Sora’s word. While he continued the tour of his neighborhood Sora snuck his phone out. With his clumsy paced typing, Sora sent his response.

_ >There’s a lot to tell you.< _

Sawada pushed the gate open to his modern-looking suburban home, the characters on his nameplate gleaming in the late morning sun. Sora darted his head around the property noticing how well off it was. It reminded him of Riku’s affluent childhood home-- cold and well maintained-- though it was distinctly different in style. 

“So a little warning my mom is really nosy. She may take a second to get rid of and I don’t bring friends home… like ever.” Somehow that didn’t surprise Sora. 

“That’s okay. It’ll be nice to meet your mom.” Sawada practically rolled his eyes at his new friend’s pleasant smile. 

“ _ You’ll see. _ \--You’re saying you're from Hawaii as your cover story -- right?” Sawada said, reaching for the front door.

“Yeah.” An afterthought.

Sawada cracked a grin opening to the door to what Sora understood as the genkan. “That makes perfect sense you know…” He tore his amused expression away to call out into the house.

“ _ Mom, I’m home _ !”

A spluttered surprise that echoed in a bigger, unseen room. “Welcome back!”

“Hawaii is vacation destination here.” Sawada finished as his mother shuffled into the room. She was a small thing with a short haircut and signs of aging around the eyes. She appeared to have come from the kitchen wearing an apron. 

“Oh hello there! You must be Kakehashi-kun. It’s so nice to meet you.” Sawada’s mother had exuberant energy that leaked into her animated greeting. Sora would’ve been blind not to notice the way she performed a lightning-fast glance over Sora’s appearance. He was impressed with how seamless she moved forward with her words among the minuscule hiccup of judgment.

“The pleasure is mine, ma’am.” He spoke as politely as he could. This satisfied her.

“Such good manners. Shoto tells me you’re from the states.”

“H-Hawaii ma’am.”

“Ooh, that sounds so nice. We should vacation there Shoto.”

“Sure mom.”

The Sawada matriarch shook away a noticeable irritation at her son’s dry tone. “Well I won’t keep you longer, I’ll bring up snacks in a few minutes! I’m almost giddy, Shoto doesn’t have friends to bring home.”

“ _ Mom. _ ” Sawada’s grumbling protest was not registered as the woman turned back to the kitchen.

“Thank you!” Sora’s smile was blinding and he followed the desperately escaping Sawada up the stairs.

“Your mom seems nice.” Sora complimented as he shut the door of his friend’s room. 

“Nice and fake, is what.” Sawada spat bitterly and Sora turned to take in the considerably dark den that was his room. The dark blue curtains were drawn in an effort to obscure a glare from the window that was poised against his massive flat screen tv. And while the concern for Sawada’s animosity fluttered through his mind, his eyes took in the colorful splash of wall art over the tv and he froze.

It was a poster. Of himself. That same stylized illustration. His face baring into him with a smirk.

His stomach dropped in the same way it did those many nights ago. His breath came up a little short and something electric and instinctual took control of Sora’s functions.

He spun on his heels and faced the door to Sawada’s room. Head down like a cowering turtle as he let his sight split intentionally out of focus, favoring blurry blindness. Out of sight. Like a child lacking object permanence. The shiver of shame waiting in the wings could hold off a little longer against the relief. 

Sawada made a confused grunt, at a sudden loss. “I-I’m sorry. I’m a bit of a fan…” 

_ “I’m sorry _ !” Sora insisted to the door, suddenly blubbering against the embarrassing reaction. “I-It’s just a little weird for me still…”

“I get it, I get it,” Sawada spoke like someone talking to a panicking animal. “I’ll take them down if you want. It’s not a big deal…” 

“No, don’t.” Sora protested. He took a long breath in. “... it’s fine… just give me a second.”

It wasn’t that the pictures themselves brought such a visceral rejection, but as with the game controller, the memory of that night surged with vengeance. A reminder. As denial and confusion welled around the revealing proof of his fictionality, something foundational within him shattered. It was painful and disorienting and made every step wobbly and unsure. Like the ground had been pulled up from under him. It made him sick.

But it was the recognition. The sureness that the illustration  _ was _ him. Like looking at a photo of yourself in a time you don’t remember. 

“You sure?”

Sora nodded fiercely. 

“Weird” was an understatement. It felt wrong. 

Slowly, Sora pulled himself together. He paid attention to the texture on the metal doorknob he didn’t realize he was holding. It was cold and smooth, with a hollow rattle that spoke of it’s turning power. He centered himself around the smell. Air slightly stale, a hint of body odor and powdered snacks. He funneled himself along the sure pattern of the wood knots on the door. He marveled at the miracle of the organic tree rings snaking along perfect margins. 

He was real. He was here. 

Sora turned back around and opened his eyes. Sawada was frozen in a gobsmacked position of concern, eyes bug-wide and mouth hanging open ever so slightly. A moment more and the offending image settled. There was another one on the adjacent wall taunting him that he’d have to take in slower. For now this would be fine. 

“I… don’t know how to explain why it bothers me… it just does…” He started and Sawada exhaled the breath he was holding.

“We  _ have _ to start from the beginning.”

So Sora recounted the night he landed in Shibuya. The emptiness of the city. The sudden snap of life. Finding the phone and conversing with Anon. 

“Now that’s just suspicious,” Sawada interjected, almost angry. “And you just trusted him like that?”

“I was lost! And confused… I’m still confused!”

“Not everyone with answers has your best interest in mind.”

“I  _ know that _ .” Sora insisted. Because he did. He wasn’t blind to the stupidity of his conversation with the phone, especially at first. “But Anon’s proven themselves since then. They want to help me get home. ”

Sawada didn’t seem convinced but settled his emotions. “There’s a million red flags Sora. Your Anon is the first major lead to figuring out what the hell is going on… like why put you through  _ school _ of all things? Talk about a time-suck.”

Sora pursed his lips in thought. “I was under the impression they did it so I could… make friends…”

“ _ Gah! _ Homework assignment!” Sawada snapped. “You gotta start asking this Anon some personal questions. Even the hypothetical lies are better than this.”

“I’d say it worked though…” Sora offered slyly. Sawada paused at that. 

“Hm?”

“Friends. I made a friend… finally. I should thank Anon.”

Sawada looked like he was holding back his tongue. On his face was a mix of pity and concern but also warm sympathy. He exhaled through his nose slowly. 

“Look, do what you want, but I’ve made up my mind and I’m gonna try to get you home. If that means you help with my detective methods, I’d like a little cooperation. ‘Kay?”

Sora felt a shock of clarity. It filled him with an incredulous attitude he wore on his face. “Are you gonna have me stalking our leads?”

Sawada recoiled with a violent blush. His voice was a series of spluttering grunts of protest. “ _ What?  _ T-That wasn’t my idea alone. It’s  _ not  _ a habit.”

The fictitious renegade was surprised to spit out a laugh at the blubbering antics. He threw his head back in full-on chortling. It was so contagious that the uncomfortable Sawada soon joined him with a chuckle or two as Sora continued. “It’s a deal.”

And as the fumes of amusement shuffled through the air, neither party exactly sure how to carry on, Sawada broke the silence.

“I’m still in shock, you know.”

Sora raised a brow, having begun a casual scan of Sawada’s unkempt den. There were figures on his desk and he was starting to think he recognized one of the elaborately positioned ones. 

“I mean-- it’s probably not as big a deal to you seeing how you  _ world-hop as a hobby _ , but… the fact that you’re here is… unbelievable really.” Sawada had that loose smile on his face. Kinda dreamy and reflective.

“You don’t have to believe me.” Sora didn’t want to force the faith between them. Self-destructive as it may be. 

“No, I believe you,” Sawada said firmly. “I’ve decided to. I’m just… in awe I guess. Magic isn’t real, but here you are.”

Sora suddenly remembered Inoue’s words in the stairwell. 

_ “...ground your delusion of heroics a little-- they don’t exist anywhere, much less Japan.” _

It wasn’t just ‘magic’ missing. Sora didn’t listen to the specifics of Donald’s casting lessons but he wouldn’t forget a defining moment with the mage in his first adventure, squabbling at one of Sora’s rare bouts of helplessness during a magic lesson.

_ “Stop that moping! The smile’s aren’t just for the gummi-ship! Magic comes from imagination. Imagination’s not gonna happen if you are stuck in a rut.” _

“It… wasn’t magic that brought me here.” Sora felt that conclusion roll off his tongue without feeling. Detached, he found his gaze on the collector figures on the desk once again. 

Cloud. He recognized one of the figures on the shelf as his old friend. The unmistakable spiky blond hair and the signature blade was posed on his miniature likeness with style next to a motorcycle. How strange it was, but it was a little like the voodoo dolls Hades possessed in the Underworld. Curious little things that were eerily accurate. 

But the longer he stared the more he took note of just how different this familiar face appeared to him. From his clothes… to the manner his hair fell on his head in the image. A different style. Something that competed with his mind... But it was him. It had to be.

Sora wondered if that’s how Sawada felt about him. If that was the basis of his belief, maybe he could find confidence.

“The Power of Waking...” Sawada said, tasting the word with uncertainty, afraid to use it wrong. “That’s why you’re here?”

Sora’s heart was stone still. 

“Yes.” He said softer then he intended. “I used it wrong.” 

Sawada was quiet for a lot longer than a conversation permitted. Gears turning. A million questions to settle on. “It seemed so straight forward on paper… I took it as a plot device.”

“‘To wake sleeping hearts.’” Sora quoted his deepest understanding. He’d never profess the capacity to comprehend the machinations of his universe’s laws. The science didn’t mean anything ultimately. Even when this key to saving his world held such dire consequences, it ultimately didn’t influence the outcome. Nothing warned or predicted would have stopped his decision to use it. 

Sawada huffed a dry laugh out of the blue.

“It kinda seems like… the only one who actually ‘woke up’… was you.” 

A play on words. A bark of irony. For some reason they brought a wave of numbing pressure along Sora’s limbs. Nothing as acute as the rattling concept of facing your own conundrum of existence… but something just as heavy and cold. 

Sora recalled how the dusting of rain weighed down on his clothes as his eyes fluttered open. His head throbbed while he rose to his feet, groggily registering the strange new location as though shaking off an incredible sleep. 

A lifetime of sleep. 

* * *

Elinor’s panic was in sync with the shire horse running beneath her. In the midst of the rioting guests she was expected to pacify, her determined worry cleared the path of any protesting duty. She scrambled her grip on her royal steed, unused to the extremes she was pushing the horse and uncomfortable with the time of day. 

But none of that mattered. The sight of that tapestry destroyed like that… while it stirred immeasurable grief the mystery of its destruction haunted her with a vengeance. Merida was the prime culprit to such vindictive ruin-- except Elinor  _ knew _ her daughter. She had a temper. She was headstrong and her expression at the competition was so heartbroken and wounded… she was capable of a world of irrational action. But there was more than anguish in the tapestry’s scars. 

It was savage joy.

Perplexed by the vandalism, Elinor could only worry for her daughter’s safety. Yes, there was a list of grievances to discuss, but she was unsettled and scared-- those could wait. There was potential sabotage afoot. 

Her steed gave a whiny as they approached the mouth of the forest.

“Steady!” She cautioned as the horse slowed.

There was a figure blocking its entrance. A cloaked silhouette she recognized from the morning holding a swinging lantern in the twilight.

Something clicked and Elinor felt a furious defense rise from her heart. 

“You’re the stranger from before.” She accused.

“Did you a pretty favor settling your daughter's rebellious streak now didn’t I?” The voice was that casual lilt. Far too amused. To think that his actions during the competition had answered her unspoken prayers during Merida’s outburst. To think she had been cautiously gracious. 

“There was no need for your meddling.” The queen countered. “It’s a family matter.”

“I wasn’t wrong though.” The cloaked man taunted. “I heard the protesting clans in the castle. Your ‘family matter’ has consequences.”

Elinor clamped her jaw in anger. “Was this your goal? To stir unrest in this kingdom?”

The stranger rocked back on his heels, placing more weight on the pole of the lantern he was swinging. “‘Stirring unrest’ is the nicest way to put it, but something tells me that would have happened no matter who landed that bullseye.”

“You snake!” The queen spat. 

“Let’s not get so mad. I did nothing you wouldn’t have wanted. So let’s flip the question. What’s your goal queen-y? You planning on dragging your teenage daughter back by the ear and forcing her to marry that sorry excuse for a bachelor? Do you think she’s just gonna let you? Whatever understanding you forge will simply relapse into the relationship that brought you  _ this _ . I did nothing but save you the trouble.”

Elinor didn’t let the damage of his words show. “Clear the way.” She commanded firmly, pulling the reins of her horse forward to emphasize the higher ground she dwelled upon. She’d plow past him if necessary. 

“See that’s the thing. No matter if it’s possible or not, you’re trying to fix things. And well…”

The ground started to shift around him. To Elinor’s shock creatures sprung from the earth.

“These guys are chomping at the bit to finally exist. They don’t want to give that up so easily.”

The queen’s horse took a step back as the crystalline demons shuddered forward. What were those things? She felt a sick sense of disgust take over at the sight of the enemies. Along with the terror of their physical threat. She held onto to her stubborn stance and countered her horse’s hesitation with a firm pull of the reins. She was bigger. 

But it only took one swipe at her horse’s leg to send it in a scrambling scream a cry of surprise escaping her in chorus. It bucked on its hind and the queen stumbled, grabbing the shire horse’s mane in self-preservation. The creatures slashed forward again. She couldn’t brace herself against the scared animal. 

Elinor fell from her horse with a painful crash. The creatures surrounded her defenseless form. 

“Don’t be scared. They’re just a little  _ jealous _ .”

The queen threw her arms up in defense as the things made their jump. Bracing for the attack…

That never came.

“Well, that’s a surprise appearance.” The casual tones of her intercepting enemy called out.

Another figure stood over her, cloaked in white with a smattering of light from the hostile creatures decayed around a well-timed rescue. In his hand was a strange weapon, a wide slab of metal held like a sword around a large black hilt but resembling more of a gleaming blunt object. 

“Rumor had it that you went MIA. Gotta say I was kinda banking on that…  _ Riku _ .”

Elinor’s rescuer threw off his hood to reveal a boy with silver hair and furious sea-foam colored eyes. 

“And  _ I _ thought you’d be done with the shenanigans after re-forming Xigbar,” Riku responded.

Xigbar peeled away his hood to reveal the same eye-patched face from the morning games. He had a curly grin.

“Nothing re-formed about me. Don’t wanna leave you scratching your head needlessly, but I wasn’t interested in a fresh start. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Riku simmered with a death glare. The confusing vagueness was Xigbar’s MO. The one-eyed stranger let his face light up with an exciting thought.

“Say...have you had any luck finding Sora?”

Riku was gone.

His bludgeoning blade cork-screwed instantly into Xigbar’s face his cloak whipping in the air like wings. The lantern crashed into the dirt while the snake went flying.

_ “What do you know?! _ ” Riku roared while pursuing his launched prey. Xigbar’s head lolled up with a comical smugness. 

“Touched a nerve! A little low-grade hit there  _ Master _ . You look a little tired, have you been sleeping?” He rose to his feet.

Riku summoned a flurry of dark fire from his hand. There was a burst of pink light and Xigbar’s bows materialized, shooting a flurry of arrows in the same breath. They hit the ground, forming a barrier of energy that blocked the offending magic.

“What are you after, Xigbar?” Riku snarled, snapping his keyblade aggressively to his side, encasing it in a buzzing coat of dark magic. 

“Well aren’t we a little darkness-happy…” Xigbar mused but he didn’t posture his weapons logically. “I’d ask what happened to you, but it’s real easy to guess.”

Riku fought like a dancer. His keyblade coated in energy that smeared the air in purple, he flailed his danger in wide sweeping succession. While probably the slowest of the living masters without certain boosts, he hit like a truck and aimed with precision. Xigbar parried the close-range attacks with the shaft of his bows, taking advantage of their dual nature to cover Riku’s wide reach.

During this fantastical display, the queen had scrambled to her feet and stumbled to the saddle of her nervous horse. 

“Shh, Shh!” She urged her companion, taking advantage of the wild spectacle to press on ahead. Nothing could quell the pull towards her daughter. It felt like the climb through the depths for air at this point. Mounting the saddle took two pulls too many. 

“Woah! Nope. No. Can’t have that.” Elinor froze as her cloaked obstacle broke his attention from her savior’s barrage.

Suddenly, he was much closer.

“I’m sorry, m’lady. I got distracted. See I really just think you should give this up. Give your girl a little breathing room. Try again later. Turn yourself around and tend to the damage she left behind.”

Elinor jumped at his blink into existence, tearing the reins away from him reflexively. She gathered her courage and her face twisted into a disgusted sneer.

“Get away from me!” 

And with a jerk her massive horse reared in Xigbar’s face, bringing him inches from the iron shoes of its powerful hooves. Unfortunately for the body-snatching ancient schemer, he didn’t see this kind of attack coming. 

Xigbar’s face crashed into the dirt. Skull dented and ears ringing. 

Elinor tore into the forest in pursuit of her daughter. The gallop of those deadly horseshoes clattering unevenly along the riding path.

That would have surely killed a normal man. At least on some worlds. Xigbar lifted his head against the wait of his crumbling pride. Disoriented and dripping in agony. 

Only to face the tip of Riku’s furious keyblade.

“What are you after?”

Despite his constant levity and smug confidence, something about this conga-line soured Xigbar’s sense of humor like spoiled milk. Black, sticky irritation gummed up his chest. Cold electricity shuffled through his system. 

“You could say that we want the same thing.” 

Riku felt his air stutter with the leap of his heart. His keyblade fell slack… before he pushed the dark energy closer, sharper against Xigbar’s chin. Any composure lost, Riku clamped his jaw tight against a roar of anger.

“ **_Where is he!?_ ** ” 

Xigbar narrowed his eyes. There was no humor in his dismissive regard.

“You reek of the Realm of Sleep.” He said pointedly. “I bet you searched everywhere.”

“ _ Answer the question, _ ” Riku ordered with a dangerous and venomous voice. True to his observation, the keyblade master dripped in the metaphysical remnants of the dream worlds. It was a residue you felt more so than saw. Like water that soaked your clothes. His steps were heavy, soaked in a sleep far beyond his waking movements.

“But that’s the thing. You’re in the right direction kid…You’ll find him in no time, around the corner, reaping his reward.”

“That’s a lie.” Riku pressed the keyblade closer. Xigbar seemed unphased even with his chin crooked higher than comfortable. “He’s not there. I’d know. When I’m there, I know.”

The urgency of his words suggested some level of denial. Xigbar scoffed.

“Believe what you want, Dream Eater, but I wouldn’t be so quick to trust your nose. Sure it probably brought you here, telling you something in the foundation of this world was rotten, but you can’t really tell exactly  _ what _ that is now can you?”

The keyblade master unconsciously lifted a hand to his face. His sensitivity to the nature of things was seldom significant until the disturbing odor carried across the Ocean Between at his return to the Realm of Light. It was as though taking a dip in the Sleeping Realm brought him outside of the stagnant rot long enough for him to differentiate the nuance, track the source. But Xigbar, in all his strange knowledge, was right. Riku didn’t understand the cause. He didn’t know what it meant. Or how to fix it. 

“What is happening to this World?” Riku’s question was level. Untrusting of any response but intent on the answer nonetheless. Xigbar was no slouch and his compromised position was by his own graces. Sure enough, his single gold eye seemed to look into a confident future. Subdued, not by giddy pleasure in righteousness, but by the comfort of knowledge.

“You are witnessing an  _ Unraveling _ . The Unchained are half-formed hearts. Ideas, possibilities,  _ people _ and their incarnations just barely on the verge of existence… buried in the foundation of the world and given a will. The World Order jails them, and now that a few got out-- they will stop at nothing to cannibalize the very prison that gave birth to them.”

Riku sucked in a breath behind bared teeth unable to contain the alarm. 

“Didn’t think there was a fate worse than the darkness, did you? Nothing’s getting swallowed or consumed. The light isn’t falling into an endless, unreachable realm. No, instead, the seams just  _ pop _ . Every heart returns to the scraps of light it once was. Every link of memory disperses into the ether. Just  _ gone _ . At least when the worlds fell to Ansem, there was an ounce of hope left for foolish heroes to risk it all.”

Xigbar cracked a horrible smile.

“With him nowhere to be found, you have to wonder if Sora’s suffered the same fate.”

“ _ Shut-up!!”  _ And Riku’s voice was a furious roar. He had long lost the composure to scrutinize his enemies spinning words. The anger festered a sick power. It welled like bubbling nausea and gripped his body like a chill. 

“Watch yourself, Champion of Light. You’ll succumb to the darkness you’re so proudly immune to.”

Riku held back the physical response he felt so vividly. Some kind of pride clamping his mouth shut, an alliance with his dominating shame. Any hope that such a war didn’t read was lost to the amused chuckle from his opponent. 

Xigbar took this time to rise from his pinned position on the earth. Riku hadn’t noticed the charge of Braveheart dimming in light of his words. 

“Now, as hopeless as it is, the World Order works in mysterious ways. If there is one big take away, I’d say it’s practically sentient. You’ll have to excuse me.”

The content of his words registered a moment too late. 

“ _ Stop _ !” Riku snatched his hand out toward where Xigbar once stood but the Nobody with the affinity of Space simply blinked himself away.

Left alone. Riku shook. His heart brimmed.

And then Braveheart was slamming into the ground a bursting cry of rage. Fingers grabbed at his hair-- the style as short as the child he felt himself become. But the frustration. The hopelessness was too much. 

He wished Mickey was there to calm his heart.

He wished Sora was there.

-Loading...X-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe lots going on. Sora's got this trippy existential thing he's dealing with and with his genre-savvy new friend he's searching for his next direction. I find myself surprised at how easy it is to write Sora's scenes, probably because they are more laid back and conversation heavy. It's just how I'm more used to moving a story. That makes the tone wildly different and probably half the reason I hesitated posting sooner. I thought maybe it was too jarring but then I said screw it. 
> 
> But speaking of tone... finally... Riku appears. He's uh... going through some things. I'm gonna say sorry but Xigbar's casual mention of it and the previous chapters allusion to it is true-- Riku's infamous nose is back. Haa I actually have an explanation for it which I allude to a little bit. It's not actual scent but an interpretation of a sixth scent he manifests from his exposure to different states of being. His proximity to darkness was the first pallet and now, his proximity to dreams as a dream eater seems to give him an edge here. That's the skinny. Riku's been MIA since kh3 in the setting thus far. Maybe we will hear more about what he was doing and what he learned.
> 
> I talk too much. I just finished the first quarter of school and it's... exhausting. I made a point to post this even during a busy weekend because I knew that the pick-me-up of pleasing my readers would help me get through the week. So let me know what you think! Until next time.


	13. Pursuit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh please thank you for the wait. I've been sick for weeks so I've been opting for more sleep than writing time and it's been eating away at me guys. We are approaching the climax of this arc's KH world scenes so that's the focus for this double-length chapter. 6k folks. Strap yourself in. Things are moving!

Catching up to a speeding horse was a matter of engaging with a seldom-used keyblader glider above the trees. Reasoning with an impatient World denizen without disturbing the World Order anymore was a matter of playing the hero card… Maintaining that Order, on the other hand, would be a lost cause.

And Riku wasn’t playing things safe anymore.

“I beg your pardon?” The queen’s nostrils flared, pulling at the reins of her horse to balance its anxious trots in a balanced direction. She was already perturbed by the second interruption in her pursuit for her daughter.

“You need to come with me,” Riku repeated evenly, standing before her path. Elinor set her jaw.

“I’m grateful for your aid before but I am trying to find my daughter so get out of my way!”

Riku clenched his fist. He understood that urgency, he felt it enough himself to do something this crazy. Based on Xigbar’s words, the reunion of this mother and daughter was vital to threatening his havoc-wreaking plot. She was important. But this wasn’t happening fast enough.

“And I can find her,” He replied with desperate fire. “ _Come with me_.”

Riku was reminded of the moment before when she reared her horse at a Founding Organization member. She pulled at the shire horse’s reins again and he was made aware of how short he was in comparison to the creature. 

“And this is urgent! Unless you have a horse hiding behind the trees I will simply take your guidance and forge ahead myself.”

Riku took a breath without breaking eye contact. Xigbar’s interference was one thing. Witnessing his magic was another thing. But this… was ‘meddling’. 

He summoned Braveheart into his hand and watched her jump in surprise. Unfortunately, he wasn’t done. Riku threw the keyblade, a bright light erupting around the blade’s pinwheeling form. From that eruption, his glider hovered into place beside him. 

Riku held out his hand. “Come with me.”

Elinor’s eyes were wide. “W-Who are you?”

“My name is Riku and I need you to save your daughter.”

* * *

“ _Ven_!”

Terra’s voice snapped alongside the sound of rushing wind and the low hum of the keyblade’s emitting propulsion. The world zoomed past them in a blur, the pair hovering just above the treetops towards a far off indentation of cleared trees they assumed their charge to be. Ven jumped at the driver’s urgency, not having realized he was spacing out. His grip on Terra’s waist had grown tight in an absentminded slip of focus. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the gash in the World. The strange manner in which it sprawled and spread, cutting through layers of physical existence Ven had never once imagined before. 

“You need to call Yen Sid.” Terra urged, focusing on the pursuit.

“Y-Yes.” Ven spluttered, awkwardly reaching to his back pocket for his gummiphone. Riding second on a keyblade was not comfortable, but the strain of holding on simply proved how out of sorts Ven was. 

“What’s the status?” Mickey’s voice zapped through the speaker. Just as Ven suspected, his environment was not of the royal Disney Castle throne room but of the humble Mysterious Tower study. It shocked Ven’s system with a much-needed purpose. 

“Not good.” He began. And the briefest report he could manage he rattled off his tongue, mixing in a touch of Terra’s cryptic information.

“A keyblade wielder?” Mickey’s voice responded with an unbridled surprise. Meanwhile, another voice cut into the fray.

“ _Master Aced…”_ Yen Sid’s voice held wonder and caution. Mickey allowed the former Master to take the screen.

“There is a frightful amount of concern.” He continued in his signature slow drawl.

“--Yeah and we are running on a time limit!” Terra threw over his shoulder. “This World is falling apart. Tell us how to fix it!”

Yen Sid did not seem perturbed by Terra’s short fuse. “Of course… An Unraveling is a harrowing disease upon the physical realm. The World Order is the primary defense against such a disastrous event, but if the damage is as you say, the unique properties of the Princess of Heart might be necessary for mending the damage.”

“Is that why that bear guy was going after Merida? She can fix this?” Ven couldn’t help the bubble of hope in his voice.

“Perhaps. It is imperative that you protect her from these abominations. The World Order is most likely pushing its denizens to act in its favor. If the Princess has a goal, she must fulfill it! Only then can the healing begin.”

“A goal?” Terra balked. Ven’s eyes shot wide.

“She wanted to change her fate! She was going on about that even after the creature’s attack.” Ven was still baffled at her sense of priorities. It bordered on mad.

“And how are we supposed to make that happen!?” Terra seemed daunted.

“-- _she_ must fulfill this.” Yen Sid interrupted. “Keyblade wielders, no matter the intention, are still intruders on the natural order of the World. Above all else, the Princess must be the sole beneficiary. This is her World and her fate at work.”

Ven’s mind was racing at the speed of the flying keyblade. Scouring the conversation he had with her. Searching for the secret hiding in the short glimpse of her heart she provided. It felt impossible-- like he only had half the puzzle pieces. Half of the puzzle...

“Her mother!” Ven gasped. “She had a fight with her mom. Maybe that’s it?”

“You might be onto something… but we need to instigate a make-up while strapped to a world-sized bomb?”

“It may be your only chance.” Yen Sid conceded. There was only a moment of pause when the inflection of his tone tensed slightly. A momentous sign. “But take warning wielders. Should you make contact with the unraveling scars you face a most certain demise. It is a sickness!”

The picture of Yen Sid’s most foreboding fury blurred in the moving camera of the gummiphone. Suddenly the mouse king was consuming the screen with an obvious expression of panic. 

“Gee, I dunno about this guys… I-I don’t want you getting hurt!”

Ven bit back a sudden swell of sympathy at his friend’s soulful protest. It surged at him with a wave of warmth and stinging pain. Stirring inside him, Ven took that concern and spun it into liquid courage. He swallowed and pressed his face toward the camera with a defiant look. 

“We’ll be okay!” He promised. And Ven believed it. He was with Terra. Sora had conquered the greatest threat they’d ever see again. There was nothing they couldn’t do. The mouse’s expression softened, forcing the faith. 

And that’s when the gummiphone exploded out of Ven’s hand, bathed in a searing hot splash of energy. 

Ven gave a startled cry. His blistered red fingers twitched empty and raw. The phone’s circuits had fried before their danger was clear and now it hurtled toward the earth. The keyblade vehicle seized violently. 

“ _What’s happening Terra!_?” Ven scrambled to find better purchase onto the driver. The bike was jerking violently to an endless barrage of blasts on the undercarriage. The line of trees tossed and twirled. The bullets rattled off, chipping away at Ven’s back and ankles. The progress forward was stifled and aerial balance was a distant dream.

“We’re engaging!” Terra warned just before their craft crashed into the forest underbelly. And with a powerful leap, he launched himself off the bike trusting Ven’s quick but clumsy mimic. They were pinballs in the thicket of branches, blind to the dark forest’s hostile surprises. The vehicle was a keyblade before the two could vault themselves onto the forest floor, brandishing their defenses. 

Before them, their attacker stepped forward into a spot of moonlight. He wore a black cloak, but his hood was down and his gaze was knowing. 

_“Pests.”_

Xigbar curled his lip in disgust while lazily tapping one of his crossbows on his shoulder. “I’ve got a lot on my plate you know.”

Terra clamped his teeth into an eroding grind. “ _Braig!_ ”

“It’s _Xigbar_!” He moaned the correction in loud annoyance. “You are so _slow._ No wonder it was so easy for the old coot to spin you into his pawn.” He flashed the other bow in presentation to Terra’s furious posture.

“Shut up!” Ven snarled, a fire in his eyes. His keyblade curled in his grip, itching to tear through the sky. Xigbar took notice of Ven with a blink.

The annoyance melted into wry amusement in an instant. 

“ _Again_ with the look.” Xigbar chuckled nostalgically. “Positively righteous and yet so ignorant.” Like he had drowned his goldfish. Ven wasn’t wise to the personal joke which made him all the more infuriating. 

“What is your goal?” Terra interrupted and like a light switch, the charming pleasure once again left Xigbar’s face. He rolled his eyes like an inconvenienced teenager.

“I’m actually tired of explaining. Long story short: stay out of the way.” And then with a dash of sass-- “Oh, and you might want to hop on the next train off-World cause this place is _doomed_.”

“Like we’re gonna let you get away with that!” Ven snapped crouching low. Just looking at Xigbar made him feel sick.

Xigbar had a clear preference, his irritation melting into a warm laugh.

“So spunky! I can’t for the life of me understand why no one wanted to be your friend back in the day.”

Ven couldn’t help the confused twist of his brow. He unconsciously lifted his head from his defensive position ever so slightly. 

“Sorry, am I bringing back bad memories? Or did you shove those with your other half too?”

“Enough of your mind-games!” Terra clapped back and prepared his stance in sync with his brother-in-training. 

Xigbar shrugged. “Naturally, you don’t remember a thing. I get it, the trip does that to you. But you brush with your demise a few times and they come back, slowly but surely. So why is it that you are still sitting cozy in your ivory tower?” 

“What are you talking about!?” Ven screamed in frustration. There was a hitch in his voice as a ball of anxiety wound itself tight in his gut. An intrusive thought pawed at him. Wrapping his arms around Chirithy and the nudging suspicion that the Dream Eater fit into the grooves of his embrace far too nicely. Like a stuffed animal worn from the tight squeeze of a lonely child. So lonely. 

_‘I missed you,’_ Chirithy said softly at the grave. 

“He’s just trying to get a rise out of you,” Terra warned in a low voice. The eldest wielder was looking for the prime opportunity to strike. His hulking keyblade vibrated anxiously in his hand.

“Don’t you think it’s time you start asking yourself who you really are? Why you were found wandering the badlands with nothing but your name? Xehanort took you in for a reason, Ventus.”

Xigbar purred at the dropped expression. Ven’s ears and imagination were at the villain's mercy as that forgotten time came rushing back.

The wasteland was old and barren and lonely and it was all he knew. No memories. No past. No friends. He was young and scared and lost. Looking up along the black boots of an aging Xehanort, squaring his gaze into the yellow eyes of a wise Master-- Ven couldn’t help but feel hope. And that gnarled old man… he must have felt something similar looking into him. 

And that hope had dried up so quickly as he followed at the heels of his master. Without memory to guide his thoughts, Ven had succumbed to a near-constant sense of isolation and dread. Felt with acute precision, his heart having been coddled from knowledge only to be dropped into a vat of suffering, his Master provided little comfort of presence, word, or deed. And thus that sense of lost hope was mutual between them.

Wayward Wind was shiny and new in his hands but it quickly dulled against the barrage of strange enemies and the black blade of his master. The sun would travel slowly across the dusty ruins. The training sessions were impatient and fierce. His pleading protests were met with deaf ears. Until finally it was too much to take.

His master’s black boot kicked his limp body onto his back and that sick keyblade cleaved his heart in two.

“Ven doesn’t need your questions! He knows who he is!” Terra spat back. He looked at his younger friend for the confident endorsement only to find him slack and distant. His attention was far away and running farther. His breath was reduced to short, fruitless huffs. 

There was a laugh.

“ _It’s so predictable of you,_ ” Xigbar ignored Terra, opting to lower his head in the manner one speaks to a small child. He strolled towards the chronic amnesiac with that patronizing tone. “But I’m almost jealous. What I wouldn’t give to finally forget the horrifying truth of this game we’re playing.”

Ven raised his head. Noticing that Xigbar had grown closer still, he tilted it reluctantly higher. He felt small and dumb. That skin-crawling itch from before suddenly returned and brought with it the same overwhelming sense of rejection that the unraveling wound in Merida’s beautiful World emitted. The impending void, the suction of complete and utter absence. The gash that wasted light and seeped an insatiable hunger. Just one look at it sparked an instinct in Ventus honed by experience. That wasn’t the first time he had seen a scar like that...

“All you Dandelion’s ever knew how to do was run away.”

A sharp inhale. Fear. Confusion. Envy. Protest. Outrage. Righteousness. Doubt. Self-preservation. Fear. Panic. Loneliness. And then… nothing. A pain so unfathomable he refused to feel it. _That_ ache was missing.

_“Enough!”_

Terra was swinging the Ends of the Earth over his head. His fury was raw power. 

Xigbar flashed both of his bows and caught the strike. 

“Don’t listen to him, Ven!” Terra insisted, pushing his blade deeper into the sniper’s held defenses. “None of that stuff matters! We’re a _team_!”

Xigbar was pushed back against Terra’s screaming keyblade. The windswept keyblade wielder jerked into awareness. 

_“I will not...let you hurt my friend”_

_“Together… always.”_

“ _Me and him will always be a team!”_

Terra, was a rock in the storm. Ventus held on desperately, his heart swelling around a raging fire.

And Wayward Wind was in his hands with a burst of reinvigorated green energy. Ven was a blur as he snapped himself forward in a signature vortex motion, pinwheeling a savage tornado across Xigbar’s defenseless posture. 

Only for the sniper to blink out of existence. Xigbar very shortly materialized from a wormhole of his creation just a few yards away. 

Ven halted the extreme wind-up from his attack, only looking a little perturbed at having missed the target. That was the problem with battling a space-manipulator. His nostrils flared and his face twisted around a brightly assessing expression.

“Sorry, Terra,” Ven said, eyeing his pest of an opponent. “What do you say we slap that smile off his face and save Merida?”

“You know we don’t have time to play around, Ven.”

Ven’s fury was nothing like Terra’s-- but it was unmistakable. Then a smile, reminiscent of a gold-eyed, monster-spawning abomination, snuck onto his face unconsciously.

“Don’t worry. I’m fast.”

Xigbar whistled.

“‘For a kid without a lick of darkness, you can be so _mean_. A far cry from your pacifist days.” The space manipulator clicked his tongue and warped out of sight. Terra and Ven’s head shot up, frantically searching for Xigbar. 

“Lock on!” 

A flurry of bullets answered the pair’s prevailing question before they could pinpoint his location. Ven was darting around the attacks while Terra took to blocking. A dance better avoided with the more magically apt Aqua. Her reflect spell was fast and stronger than anything Terra could conjure. The attack stopped as abruptly as it began, the forest filling with the mechanical clips and creaks of his crossbow’s reloading process. That was all Ven needed to begin closing the gap between them. 

“ _Tch_!” Xigbar stopped the reload in favor of warping away. This time he didn’t appear so obviously. 

“Where’d he go?” Terra demanded. A moment later an arrow struck him on the side. There was the distinct sound of warping as they turned their heads in the direction of the attack.

Another shot, this time from behind Ventus. Space loudly zipped itself close again. 

The air whistled from above. 

“Stop hiding you coward!” Terra managed a block before calling out. 

Ven was struck twice before backing up toward his friend. 

“He’s toying with us,” Ven concluded and Terra gave a sharp grunt as he took another small blow to the back. 

“No kidding.” 

Ven squared himself to Terra’s back, covering all of his bases, his eyes zipping around for their opponent. Maybe he could try airstepping like Sora? Close the distance. Melee was the only way for him. He cursed his lack of strong ranged attacks to counter. But he could do it. 

He waited for the sharpshooter to burst into his sight, his muscles coiled like springs. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. His heart raced and his net of awareness was cast as wide as he could manage. He could catch several insects out of the air if he so chose.

But the next attack never came.

There was a beat. Ven was the first to slack his defense. Did…

Did Xigbar up and _run_ from the fight?

“I think he ditched us.”

“ _No way_.”

“I really think he did.”

“That doesn’t make sense, why shoot us down in the first place?”

Ven was pale. “To stall us?”

Terra’s eyes were saucers. Yen Sid’s warnings rang in his ears. The power Master Aced’s swing ached in his arms. 

“Let’s move.” 

* * *

Riku chose to ride the glider under the trees, along the path to better pacify Queen Elinor who was frazzled by the speed. That meant less of a straight shot… and more of a winding ride. The tradeoffs were relatively equal. Her long hair whipped behind her as they wove unhindered by gravity and obstacles. It was a remarkable improvement regardless of the downsides. 

The medieval queen twisted her fingers into Riku’s jacket, muttering in her exasperation and fear. 

Riku followed the path along a sharp turn. There was a moan at the vertigo.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” The queen muttered to herself right by Riku’s ears. 

A lump of guilt traveled down Riku’s throat and hesitantly, he put a hand over the queen’s grip. 

“We’re going to save her.” He reassured, focusing on their path. It was hard not to know where to go. The stench of wrongness wafted before him. It was nothing like the darkness he was so accustomed to. It was positively nauseating. 

It was perplexing. For some reason, his recent failure of a trip in the Realm of Sleep brought about another sensitivity. And with it were questions about the nature of such an ability. His heart doused in darkness gave him a taste for the contrasts of light and dark. Now, doused in dreams… he could sense this harrowing ‘unraveling’. He wasn’t sure of the connection but he wasn’t going to snuff the asset. 

Sure enough, the closer his journey traveled to the concentration of smell, the physical signs of blight increased. It started off as cracks in the air and earth traveling miles along the earth. Soon those cracks had faulted open into massive gashes, exposing a cosmic vortex of nothingness oozing threads of light. They were chilling wounds, unlike anything he’d ever seen. He was thankful that the World’s denizen had her eyes squeezed shut.

“This is my fault.” The queen moaned. She was overwhelmed with the transportation, but it was bringing out the dark sadness of her heart. He couldn’t let that fester…

“What happened?” Such counseling was not Riku’s strong suit. 

“I’m a horrible mother. I pushed her away. I didn’t listen to her and now… she’s in danger. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose her.”

Riku tightened the protective covering of his hand over hers. She was a stranger but her heart was laid bare. He couldn’t help but recall his overprotective sense of possession with his dear friendship with Sora when they were kids. His fear of losing him drove him to dark thoughts and rash decisions that pushed him away-- outright rejected the person he wanted to protect. His most precious person. It was a bitter irony.

We are always our worst enemies. 

“You’ll find a way to her,” Riku reassured. The thought of Sora’s smile. There wasn’t an ounce of blame. That bond was stronger than any misunderstanding. “Because you’re there for her. You always will be. Remind her of that.”

There was a bloom of physical pain at the grief his own words brought him.

Riku would be there for Sora. No matter how hopeless it seemed. 

The fog around them thickened in the moonlit night. They needed to find her.

* * *

The blue orb danced and flickered-- a high pitched chatter of interest emitting from its ethereal flame as it looked at her. Merida made a connection to those demonic creatures attacking her but she recognized this spirit. She saw them when she was a child. The day Mor’du attacked her family and took her father’s leg. 

“A wisp!” She said in awe. The spirit bobbed in response, slowly bowing its twig-like appendages. Cautiously, Merida took a step forward. The blue glow was dim in the deep night, blurred along a thick coat of fog, characteristic of this ancient forest. Her careful hand reached out into the moonlight. If she could just... 

_“You know, some say, that will-o'-the wisps lead you to your fate.”_

Wonder filled her eyes. Meanwhile, a hunger burned under her skin. This was her chance. 

Eagerly, her fingers laced across the creature. Just like before, it vanished into thin air. 

Before she could mourn the loss, a bell-like tone tinkled ahead of her. There another wisp floated ahead of her. And then another behind that. The number was countless as they formed a perfect trail. It was leading her… to her fate. 

She hiked her skirt up, a breath of a smile curling her lips at the prospect. The princess was running along the wisps careful paths. Their ghostly flames dispersed in chorus with her own fiery mane as she passed. To where she didn’t know. But there was hope and that made her bold. 

The trail was long and winding, climbing starkly up an incline laced with rock and cliffsides that Merida proudly scaled. Anything to change her fate. Anything to break free from the shackles of her prison. 

The wisps were blue beacons in the darkness, the fog catching the bright moonbeams like billows of endless smoke. It only increased as the altitude increased. Eventually, the mouth of the forest cleared to make way for the jagged and desolate clearing of crumbling stone. From the enshrouding mist was a grand spire of rock, carved by man and nature alike, standing indomitable. A seal of crossed axes on its archway. 

Why did the wisps bring her here?

She walked under it, carefully treading along the path of broken stone. Before her was the remnants of what appeared to be a regal stone building, dilapidated walls fruitlessly scaling the sky, covered in ancient overgrown and destruction. Completely abandoned. In total ruin. Lost to time. A kingdom standing along a cliffside. 

Whoever they were, they've been gone for a long, long time.

And Merida’s cautious step forward was met with gravity. The stones at her feet suddenly buckling under a hollow and worn center. For the second time that night she tumbled hard along the earth, a slide of jagged rubble pushing her down into a heap. She groaned-- the urge to reassure someone of her health was strange considering her solo adventure.

She squared her vision on a throne room, littered with rubble, savage scars, and human bones.

It was the kingdom from her mother’s story. Or rather… what was left of it.

“It seems like destruction is a fate we all share.” Merida jumped at garbled voice cutting through the darkness. It almost sounded like it was crying. A grand difference from when she last saw the speaker. 

The warrior in the bear mask hovered by the ruins of one of the prince’s thrones. At his foot was a tablet chiseled with the royal likeness of the story’s four central characters. He looked contemplatively at the image lit only by moonlight, shining from the recently made skylight. 

“What are you doing here?” She called and she wasn’t sure if her voice conveyed the rebellious spite she wanted or if her genuine surprise was actually creeping through. The bear mask gleamed as he turned his head to face her. 

“I am here to set you free.”

Despite herself, Merida felt her stomach jump at the answer to her prayers. Even still his armor of jagged crystal dimly pulsed around him. She recalled his mindless fury against her and the fear trickled back. 

“Do you mean… change my fate?” 

He nodded. 

“Yes. You may not understand it princess, but you are special. Within your heart is an ancient light and that light holds up this very realm of existence. Without your safekeeping, the great Kingdom Hearts would simply collapse.”

Merida scoffed, taking what she could from the jumble of nonsense. “Being a princess has never helped. I don’t care how special that makes me.”

The enemy almost projected a sense of pity. 

“One’s circumstance of birth is the first blow of fate. Your World subjects you to its design that way. And your very existence ensures that the greater World can continue this endless cycle.”

He gave a bitter smile before continuing. “Should I destroy you, that ancient light would simply move onto the next worthy candidate.”

Merida unconsciously reached for her bow only to find her shoulder bare. He didn’t move further and they were at physical standstills. “W-what are you going to do?”

The man traced a hand along the engraved stone of the throne and Merida saw him thoughtfully browse the dark throne room they inhabited. He finally landed on the hole she fell through. 

“If we can’t destroy the pillar, then we destroy the ground it stands on.”

Merida trembled at the catastrophic threat. A flash of metal on the ground snatched at her desperate attention and her defenseless hands were quickly shuffling out an ancient sword from the skeletal grip of one of the many victims in the castle. 

The sword wavered awkwardly in her hand, pointed at the still and contemplative figure. He was a savage beast before, she barely recognized his human shape when he was attacking her. And… it was different pointing a blade at a man. She could bravely face the bared teeth of an animal but he seemed far more intimidating. It made the dust flake off the metal. It gave cracks to her panicked thoughts, allowing an intrusive question to creep into her consciousness. As if to add to the horror. 

Why were there so many remains here?

The tablet at the foot of the invader was cracked along the edge, separating the eldest, power-hungry brother from his family. His stone engraved face was mauled by massive claw marks.

“The Unchained were drawn here. Countless possibilities teem underneath this world and soon they will be free. Free to unchain you from this world. Free to change your fate.”

There was a flash of light. In his hands settled a massive blade, oddly shaped, just like Ventus. Like a key, it’s shaft was a boulder with a bear-like maw for the teeth. He shifted its position in his grip, pointing it toward the ground, toward the tablet. 

“It’s clear now why destroying your tapestry would result in the damage thus far. Your story is an echo.”

Merida didn’t know what he was talking about. But staring at the broken tablet reminded her of the dear tapestry her mother wove together. Stormy nights by the hearth. Her mother’s voice soothing her fear of thunder while tirelessly slaving away at this symbol of her family's bond. The depiction of the four brothers was the same, only torn and savagely destroyed. The eldest brother of fitful jealousy and betrayal haunted the eyes.

The crystalline stranger summoned a narrow beam of light from the tip of his blade. It sliced into the tablet with an ethereal blue light. 

“And with my keyblade, I will unlock those possibilities trapped within the source of your echo.”

The source of her echo? All she saw was a stone tablet mauled by what seemed to be…

A bear.

Merida registered the heavy sounding of breathing behind her. The stones creaked together. Cold dread fell into her stomach and her body froze with a realization she’d probably never completely understand. She couldn’t breathe. The sword in her hand trembled. Those, claws. The brothers. The prince was…

**_“Mor’du!”_ **

She screamed, whipping her hair around to face the massive beast from her nightmares. A bear so large and savage songs were sung of its endless murderous plague. It’s mindless gaze blinked from within the dark corners of the throne room like fireflies. At her alarm, the bear began a charge toward her, jumping over the rubble. 

She gave a shriek once more as it closed the distance. Her head darting around the dark space for the fight of her life or the flight of her life. The rusty blade from the ruins reaffirmed its position in her clammy palms. The sword was not her weapon of choice. The blood rushed in her ears, accompanied the bear’s aggressive vocalization. 

Merida lashed the dull blade at the snout of the beast who gave a deafening roar. The sword was thrown out of her hands with a simple swipe of the bear's claws. Panic overtook the princess and she dove out of the way of the bear's ruthless pursuit. 

Mor’du’s claws swiped through the space she once occupied. It was time to run. She scrambled up the slope of crumbled castle frantic limbs, the bear at her heels. Or at least, she thought it was. 

She turned her head just in time to see the bear of legend charge at the keyblade wielder. His brandished defense was nothing to the massive paw and thousand-year rage. And as her enemy recoiled, Merida pushed herself up the rocks, scaling it like the cliffsides she’d leisure along with Angus only with more urgency. 

Soaked in the moonlight, Merida reached the top of the slope, with one eye on the battle below. They were perfectly occupied with each other, the savage demeanor of the keyblade wielder had returned only with a flashing blade above his head. 

The gap to the surface was a little more than an arms-length from her wide-eyed form. There was no purchase for her climb.

The dread was almost too much and she whimpered while searching the immediate surroundings for a solution. Something to climb atop? A stone to leap toward in the interim? She was stuck in a cage with a bloodthirsty **bear**.

The idea struck her and her risk assessment was a tidal wave of uncertainty. The sword she used to defend herself fell a ways down the slope where Mor’du launched it. She’d have to be fast and hope for the beast of a man to occupy the actual beast well enough. 

As she slid down the slope a blistering roar stole her attention.

The keyblade wielder covered in the crystal burned a bright yellow, illuminating the dark ruins with a brandish of his rock-like claws. He tackled the savage Mor’du with bared teeth and his keyblade, overwhelmed by some base instinct. Mor’du was larger and piled his maw into the man.

He cried out and the keyblade conjured a bright ball of magic that dispersed along the earth. A sudden spire of stone erupted from under the bear. Mor’du shrieked and recoiled from the attack.

What ensued was a battle between monsters. The wielder’s sword lashed at the bear who stood immortal ages. Mor’du’s claws would land against the man’s head and torso, cleaving into him at unexpected times. A savage pleasure was seen on the lips of the bear-masked man. He craved power and yearned for a match no matter how he dressed the desire up.

Fitting that the warrior would find that satisfied against something so mindless.

The intruder rose from the bear’s landing strike with a mad bark of laughter. It reminded Merida vaguely of her father’s exaggerated tales and the stupid grin on his face when he described the truly horrible experience of having his limb bitten off. That beastly first impression was returning. 

“A formidable beast! How I would’ve enjoyed a clash with your blade you cursed thing!” 

His voice echoed its heckle in the dark space while Merida search for the gleam of that sword-- any sword. No matter the intimidation of the man, her fear of Mor’du’s responding roar shook her foundation differently. The bear grunted and she spared a glance long enough to see the maw of the bear close on keyblade wielder’s blade arm. 

Suddenly, the man was being tossed in the air by the arm, pinned and suffering from the repeated slams against the floor. Something about the limb would not detach and the bear was forced to let go throwing the man across the room.

He crashed against the wall with an echoing _crack_ and fell limp onto the floor. The glow of his crystalline armor dimmed.

Merida balked, stunned at the sure take-down. She wasn’t sure what to feel, but the gleam of that sword in the corner of her eye gave her hope.

Mor’du was approaching the still body of it’s defeated opponent when Merida secured the hilt in her hand at the foot of the slope.

There was a grunt and the bear’s mindless eyes took in her frozen form. The horror dawned on her with the intensity of a swinging hammer.

Merida scrambled back up the rubble with an electric jolt. The sword clanging and clattering along the stone, in tandem with the claws of the bear who abandoned the other inhabitant. She could feel it’s hot air creep along her ankles. She lurched herself higher and higher until she reached her dead end.

The sword was raised in one quick motion and with a mindless snap she hurled the weapon at the stack of rock just out of reach. 

It wedged itself deep into that wall by some miracle. Extended just far enough under the mouth of the opening to the surface. She wanted nothing more than to bridge that gap.

She launched her blind jump in the mad momentum. Reaching her arm out, she wished the outstretched hand of someone she loved would miraculously grab it. The bears’ jaws snapped behind her. 

And she fell onto the sword’s hilt. Salvation.

Mor’du tumbled down the slope from the momentum and Merida scurried up the hole. 

The desolate ruins upon the surface were a source of relief but the growls from the hole convinced her she wasn’t safe. She broke into her run before even getting to her feet. Merida tossed her head behind her wheezing for air.

Mor’du pulled himself to the surface with a roar. She’d have no chance of outrunning him on level ground. 

And as Merida ran, the ruins at her feet changed into the grass-covered clearing. The spires of stone bricks transformed into massive slabs of rock, standing like pillars, points of worship in the green fields bathed in moonlight. 

But underneath the blades of grass was a sinister glow, cracks along the World. Oozing scars that creaked wider and wider with each hopeless step towards the perceived escape. With a clear _snap_ the gashes extended before Merida, lacing through the earth, the stone pillars, the air itself. The World between the wounds stretched and pulled under the strain, undulating under the princess’s path. 

Merida’s foot caught, mind distracted by the nightmare before her and horror behind her. Her momentum sent her tumbling along the grass, among the stone structures. 

Mor’du’s image closed in. 

On her back, the horrifying sight of those teeth ready to tear into her, getting larger, getting closer. Her scream was sucked up by the endless voids in her World. Pushing herself up along the thick grass, kicking in a frantic back-peddle, she was unable to tear herself away from the source of her sure and certain death. 

Her head hit the broad wall of one of the stone pillars. Merida whimpered her anguished surprise. A dead end.

Mor’du rushed toward her helpless body. 

She was going to die. The bear stood its full height before her and she was heaving fruitless gasps. She was going to die. This was the end. Merida wailed and hiccupped along the bear’s horrible sounds.

Mor’du swung its paw into the air. Merida finally recoiled her swimming gaze. She wasn’t brave enough to stare her end in the face. Her eyes squeezed tight and her voice cracked in her screaming cries… The tears were spilling down her cheeks. 

She was going to die. 

  
  
  


**_“MERIDA!”_ **

….

There was a weight atop her. A familiar form and timeless smell. Warmth. A soothing voice singing above a raging storm.

Arms wrapped around her tight. The death-dealing blow didn’t come. Just a single, desperate embrace. Merida took in a shuddering breath she had resigned herself from ever having. 

_“Mum?”_ She gasped underneath the hug. Eyes wide.

“I’m here.” Elinor sobbed. “I’ll always be right here.”

-Loading...X-

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a challenge. Lots of exposition and fight scenes, but it's actually the substance of the dialogue that was hardest. I mean when you're trying to pepper ideas in you don't want to go too far ya know? This chapter had a few faulty branches I spent wasted time on. But I am very pleased with the atmosphere going right now. We are approaching the first big endpoint. If you miss Sora, I appreciate your patience as I am extremely excited to tie this up and tumble right into his arc. 
> 
> As a side note, I feel like I'm coming off as someone who is really invested in Brave but as I said before I like... don't love or hate that movie. I did have to watch it a couple of times for these chapters though and grew a better appreciation for it. The Brave world is a great venue to discuss the plot of IVory and all of the characters serve a purpose in their arc with our main characters. I hope they are just as enjoyable. I think folks familiar with the movie will appreciate some of my hints and allusions but this story is about divergence. So take that how you will. 
> 
> Your comments and kudos are making me strong! Please let me know what you think. I love this story dearly and find myself so excited to share the joy it brings me to write it.


	14. Sabotage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a snow day recently and spent it writing this monster of a chapter. It's 7k and very heavy, but I've been looking forward to unfolding these events for a while. I can't express how motivated I was to deliver to you my very best. I appreciate every comment and kudo offered to this fic from the bottom of my heart. Without adieu, this concludes the Land of Fate Arc of IV[or]y Wall.

Braveheart locked blades with Mor’du’s mortal blow. Riku trembled under the relentlessly pressing force, using two hands to defend the princess and her mother. The bear’s teeth closed around the key’s indentations a hot fog of its breath bloomed along the metal. Riku summoned his strength, ready to throw the attack to the side. A glance behind him snuffed the idea.

The embrace was touching. The daughter engulfed by the protective hug of her mother. Queen Elinor crying in grief. 

“I’m sorry for everything Merida.” The proud queen’s words spilled from her uncontrolled. 

The anguish of her family symbol torn returned. With it was the impossible conclusion that Merida was driven to such violence against her. What she perceived as temporary tantrums rocked her as horrid scars and unbridled resentment she was helpless to face. The stranger’s malicious intent, his sure meddling spelling out to her how savage and animal her expectations were. The fear of his predatory ambitions against a princess, renegade and alone. The possibilities he posed reminding this queen that her first duty, was as a mother.

Riku’s reassuring confidence also played through her head. She was sorry. She was so very sorry. How could she forget her dear promise to the little girl scared of thunderstorms? 

Merida peaked her head from her mother’s shoulder. The fear coursing through her body made the response hard to articulate but the question was just as much a shot in the dark. “T-The marriage?” 

Elinor rocked forward with insistent hushing. “None of it matters. I-I thought I was _protecting_ you. I wasn’t listening. I was wrong, I was only pushing you away.”

Merida couldn’t comprehend her words… nothing made sense. This context spun her head. All she knew in this one moment was that she was going to die and there was her mum and her embrace was so desperate and tight and full of love. And it was everything she ever wanted.

The princess barked a sob. Her arms slowly reached around the woman, gripping the back of her regal dress in a tight bunch and she wailed.

Riku gnashed his teeth together in the strain of his block. The bear tore against his keyblade and pulled at him. Impatience overtook him and he veered himself around.

“I hate to cut the reunion short but--”

And the sight froze every objection. 

The princess was emitting a glow in the dark night. And that light spilled from her like a million spools of thread. That light tumbled out of her and snaked along the earth-- _took to the sky_ \-- before Riku’s eyes. It stole the air from his lungs as these threads traveled out into the World.

And the scars. The gashes littering the earth, their cosmic vacuum consuming the sight in their unnatural, uncanny magnetism. They glowed intensely, giving way to the purple void that spelled certain doom. Those horrible cracks of blight made contact with the spider webs of light that rapidly began the process of filling in the void. The light condensed tight. Reality asserted itself in those holes. At the union of this weaving power, the scars shrank. Slowly the mending began. 

The World was healing. 

The sight was enough to send Riku into an exclamation of relief. Joy. Not all was lost. And this beautiful moment between mother and daughter was powerful, so powerful. Something reaffirmed in Riku and Sora’s steadfast hope came to mind. 

It reinvigorated Riku’s defense and he glared at the mindless bear which was determined to thwart this miracle. It’d have to go through him.

* * *

Ventus vaulted over the expanding rift, barely considering the terrifying danger of his failure to land. They were close. He was sure.

“What’s that?” Terra’s voice cut through behind him. Ven trotted to a halt.

A thick layer of fog consumed the trees, catching the moonlight and illuminating the immediate surroundings but leaving no sort of foresight for the destination beyond. And that’s where the anomaly cut through, countless tendrils of impossibly bright light, snaking across the earth from the same direction. The phenomenon rippled along the air and soon passed along Ven’s ankles. Another flew past his shoulder. The trail of light lingered indefinitely before him. It stole his words.

“It’s Light,” He responded dumbly, hesitantly reaching out to touch the threads of light. His fingers passed along the light and distorted the path into artistic spirals. It was… absolutely beautiful.

“ _Don’t touch it_ \-- oh” Terra was distracted by his own encounter. “Where… is it coming from?”

“Where is it _going?_ ” Ven pressed. Following the start of this light ribbon already snaking behind them… but creeping lower… closer to the…

Ven let out a rush of vocal disbelief. “Terra, the scars!”

The threads focused in on the scar Ven lept over. Some even branched in two, condensing toward a nearby smaller crack beside it. And the gashes filled with the light. 

“I don’t believe it,” Terra muttered as the wound healed before their eyes. He turned his head to take in the leagues of trees, raked into illumination by this wide net magic. The rifts were shrinking and glowing to the demands of this army of healing aid. 

Ven’s eyes pricked with tears. The joy was overwhelming and his speechless mouth chimed a confused but euphoric laugh. “Did Merida do this?” 

“Only one way to find out.”

* * *

Xigbar’s face was humorless as he observed the stone clearing. Swirling energy pulsed around him, casting shadows along his eyes. It would have been a positively enchanting sight had it not been undoing his every effort until now. He could almost see the Box’s latch hold tighter against its clasp… The image of his Master’s back burned within his vivid fury. But he didn’t move a muscle as the light flowered past him. His mouth didn’t so much as twitch away from the thin line of his lips. 

This was what the ages granted him. Control. The ability to restrain the urge to scream his outrage. The wisdom not to tear the earth away with his own two hands. The patience to stand still before his crumbling scheme. No, Xigbar didn’t move. He _watched_.

He watched as Terra and Ven stumbled into the clearing from the forest, drawn to the source of the magic. He watched their surprise at Riku’s appearance which quickly melted at the notice of the master’s current bear wrangling occupation. They drew their blades in defense of this horrible magic. 

The bear tumbled against the relentless blows. But their blades wouldn’t be able to stop a creature like that. It was a force of nature only this World could remedy. But time was all the reuniting mother and daughter needed. Their story was finding some approximation of the endpoint. Fate was finding its way. It was shoddy and frail but _that didn’t matter_.

Xigbar’s bows erupted into his hands. He didn’t take his eyes off of the ensemble. The pathetic excuses for keyblade wielders. The stubborn queen. The bratty princess. Their tearful confessions of love. Words. Spewing fake words. Words that shouldn’t have this power. 

Why was he remembering Sora’s retort in the Sleeping Worlds? Why did his defiant assertion summon those bonds across time and space like that? Words were n _oTH I_ **_N G_ **

In one sharp motion, the bows snapped together.

And there was a morbid lust in his eyes as he flash stepped onto the branch of a nearby tree. He refused to let his efforts fail here. He refused to turn his back on the only chance to bring Him back. He wanted it. He wanted it like nothing else. _His sin_.

Wanting something he shouldn’t have. 

He lived it at every moment of his ancient life. And he was living it now.

Xigbar produced from his pocket a single arrow. The same arrow Merida shot to change her fate. The same arrow he stole to ignite this entire unraveling. It still dripped and flickered in his hand. A simple squeeze transformed its physical form into a spastic plasma bullet. Pure unchained corruption. A glitch in the program. 

He exhaled slowly.

“Reload.”

The crosshairs settled on the disposable supporting character. He’d stop this sabotage before it was too late. 

The sharpshooter pulled the trigger. 

* * *

Ven caught his breath in the wake of a successful barrage upon Mor’du. The sight of Riku and Terra’s synchronized combat brought him confidence. While the creature was relentless and near impervious to their attacks, the time being bought was worth every expense. They’d figure out how to take care of it for good when the healing was complete. 

The buzz of adrenaline removed every distraction. Even the ribbons of light he ran through couldn’t throw off his battle-honed mind. He wasn’t going to let this creature destroy his friend. He wasn’t going to let her World fall to ruin. 

It’s why the single click reaching his ear was so chilling. It whistled through the air like a dropping bomb. A cold stone dropped in his stomach as he turned his head in that direction. 

And a bullet was hurling toward them, toward… 

**_“M E R I D A !”_ **

The scream left him thoughtlessly. His feet were moving fast. Faster than he had ever run. 

The princess tore her tearstained gaze away from her mother to witness Ven’s charge toward her with a surprised gasp. Like the unnatural being he was, he pushed through the world until he was upon the princess and her mother’s embrace. 

Arms outstretched before them, his small frame looming protectively, Ven was unable to do much else.

There was impact. A speeding truck. A savage bolt of electricity. A spear of pure energy cleaving into his back and straight into his heart.

And everything stopped.

_“Ventus!”_ Terra screamed. He was running toward his friend.

Ven’s mouth hung open. His eyes were opened, but sightless. His body was frozen in his defensive posture, a human shield. And then, like a rag doll, his arms fell slack, dangling for only a moment before his head careened forward.

* * *

The bows fell to the ground and dissolved at Xigbar’s feet. His voice was lodged in his throat. His mouth was as slack as the struck Dandelion. 

_Nononooo no no._

He didn’t expect… didn’t _think_ the boy would… the flimsy excuses rattled off in his mind while the horror set in. Ventus fell into Terra’s arms. The blight settled in. 

In the face of losing one-- Luxu was about to lose another. 

* * *

Terra turned Ven’s limp body up in his arms. “Ven! VEN!” 

Merida and Elinor hovered by his side as he positioned his keyblade over him. There was a bloom of green magic as Terra summoned the strongest cure spell he could manage.

Nothing. He tried again, wishing for a more apt healer. His mind was racing in the panic.

“Ven!” Terra’s voice cracked and he shook the unconscious boy with his free hand. He was still. He wasn’t breathing. Ven wasn’t breathing...

And then he suddenly was. Gasping. A sharp inhale as though rising from the depths of the ocean. Like the lightning-fast strike that struck his heart, Ven’s eyes shot open, his chest heaving frantically. 

“Ven!!” Terra’s eyes were alight and his hands trembled around his young friend’s shoulders. But something was off. His expression was pained, his face was pale. Small moans escaped his throat in sporadic bursts. Not once did he focus his gaze. Eyes like darting pinpricks. It was like he couldn’t see. 

“Terra?” Ven grabbed at his hyperventilating chest with spastic fingers. His hands pawed at his jacket, his emblem, every layer of clothes. Like scratching an itch or digging for something. He was shaking. “S-s-s-something’s wrong!”

Absolute panic. _Scratch_ . The moans turned into cries of desperation. “Something’s wrong!” He repeated, some kind of agony tearing him apart from the inside. _Scratch scratch_ Moved into frantic action, Ven attempted to throw his body forward. Meeting resistance, he thrashed against Terra’s arms mindlessly. 

Any hope Ven’s consciousness brought withered instantly in Terra. At first, thrown off by Ven’s sudden burst of violence, he found the mind to grapple the boy by his tossing arms. This wasn’t a normal injury.

“It hurts!” He cried and he was clinging to his chest again… his heart. _Scratch_.“ _It hurts letmego! IT HURTS!_ ” 

Ven was screaming, thrashing about. Ripping the air with his anguished cries cracking Terra’s defenses. And in the struggle, Terra noticed the dull glow from Ven’s heart, hidden under his mad twitching hands. In one motion, he pinned Ven’s hands in time to watch the glow seeped from under his clothes and creep up his chest. Like a viscous liquid, the glow sprawled onto his neck finally reaching the exposed skin. The injured boy sobbed. 

And Terra sobbed. 

Cracks. Like concrete during an earthquake. Gapping faultlines curling and branching along his skin. Glowing rifts, oozing wasted light, encased Ven’s neck and surely traveled to his cheek in the short horrible observation.

“ _What’s happening?_ ” Tears were spilling down Ven’s cheeks into the cracks. His voice crackled in fatigue and strain, strung tight by an ever-present agony. 

Terra didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to _do._ He was frozen in the face of such an emergency. Aqua would know. Yen Sid would know. He needed help. Ven was suffering and he needed him to do something. The glow pulsed under him like a beating heart. Pushing the blight along his skin.

“You’re unraveling.”

There was the distinct sound of space zipping close. And Xigbar appeared, his expression intense and dark, unlike his usual ease. He powered toward the pair, only sparing an annoyed glance at the observing royalty behind them. Terra ignited into action and hunched over Ventus instinctually. 

“You!” There was venom gurgling in Terra’s voice as he looked up. “It was you--!”

“--And he wasn’t my target! So listen up or your friend’s a goner!” Xigbar snapped. 

Terra shrank back, eyes trembling wide. Uncertain. He wavered at the encounter, but the urgent concern hijacked his mouth.

“How do I save him?” He was loathed to even consult an enemy like this but Ven was… Ven needed him. 

“He needs to save himself,” Xigbar responded, his snapping bite had him catching his breath slightly. His expression… He was… he was scared. Terra didn’t know what to think of that realization. “His memory is the key. His lost memory. It’s time. _He needs to get it back!_ ”

“Why do you care?” Terra was no longer able to hold back the fear in his defiant words. Ven was disappearing. The culprit was consorting his remedy. To what end? Why? 

Had it been any other moment Xigbar might have smiled at Terra’s question. He might have laughed and said something coy. After all, the villain relishes with the hero in their mercy. Unfortunately, it was quite the opposite here. 

“He has something I need.”

Xigbar looked behind them. The rebellious princess was staring at him in fury. The healing was still at work around them. The queen beside her had the girl’s hand in hers. A steady comfort against this tragedy. Riku was out of sight, fending away the persistent plot device in fur. What a disaster this ended up being and for just one latch. He’d have to make things a little messy now in attempting to salvage this World’s Unraveling. 

That’s when a tremor crescendoed under his feet, followed by a deafening explosion from behind.

* * *

A short distance away, in the crumbling ruins of a lost kingdom’s throne room, Aced shook the dust and rock off of his body. He refused to feel the shame of such a defeat. Instead, the mission glared at him from under the shining moonlight. The stone tablet, the source of the World’s unresolved story. The possibilities that teemed from under that stone, from under the crust of this World. If this World fell… they’d be closer to bringing Him back. If this World fell, Aced would finally have conquered fate. 

Keyblade in hand, the Foreteller stumbled to the rock. He held it down over his head while it gathered energy. A beam of blue light shot into the object and the light of its physical form split and peeled. 

There was a rumble a moment later. From the ceiling, stones and dirt broke apart, peppering the air like a fog. The quake grew from the opening point as the light spewed and dissipated into firefly-like remnants. 

_Crack!_

Reality split around Aced. The void swirled around him in the form of yet another massive gash. More sprung around it. Crackling the World under the weight. 

And from that void erupted a giant crystalline hand. The claws were so large that the reach crashed the throne room ceiling into dust. A barrier flashed against the falling stone, protecting the Foreteller unlocking this entity from slumber. The Unchained monstrosity slammed that hand into the earth, ripping the hole wider and sending out a shock wave through the World. 

Like an eggshell, the ground seized up, peeling back as the abomination tore itself into existence from underneath it. 

Aced released his posture, backing up against the stone as he attempted to take in the monster. The thing, humanoid in shape but jagged and sinister, shimmering off its multifaceted skin with its internal light. There was a shrieking cry that sounded like scratching glass and the titan pulled itself out of the World that created it. 

The Foreteller lept along the folding earth-- the creature’s size growing more and more apparent. He observed his work and deemed it satisfactory. Aced retreated from the scene as the thing wailed on and on. 

* * *

The roar ripped through the World and trembled through Xigbar’s heart. The Unchained threw its head back to the sky and its very touch opened the void up, swallowing everything. Trees and mountains disappeared. The ruins of the kingdom from its birthsite were now scraps. 

“Oh, my dear brother.” He said under his breath. And there was a strained smile. “You reliable oaf.”

“W-What is that?” Merida asked and her mother held her close. 

Terra, still cradling Ven, craned his neck up to witness the titan. 

“No.” He whispered. The air felt heavy. “No no…” How… how were they going to defeat that thing? Their best bet was just spent. The Princess’s healing powers was all they had. Ven was wounded. The despair was a barrage. 

“You don’t have time to cry about it.” Xigbar pressed, turning himself to the ensemble with a little more pep. A strange sight in hindsight, the enemy was so casually placed in their company. “You need to get the red-head off-World and Ventus to a memory doc.”

And to punctuate the urgency Xigbar gave two sharp claps. Terra jumped and found the anger fall upon his heart. It stirred his darkness. It sought understanding. The confusion thrived.

“Why are you doing this!?” Terra yelled. With the Darkness, Terra understood the allure. The need to consume, the isolating power, the destructive nature of a foundational force of existence. But this… The Titan clawed the air open, tearing the stars straight out of the sky. Ven’s moans of pain only grew louder. Behind him, the mother and daughter grappled with the horror of their home’s demise…

It was senseless and cruel. Terra slammed his teeth tight until his jaw was aching. “ _Why?”_

Xigbar’s mouth was a line. “You will be disappointed to learn just how pointless everything is, Terra. Mark my words.”

And in one motion, Xigbar warped out of sight.

* * *

Riku was running at top speed, the sinister Mor’du at his heels as the landscape transformed into a mountainside of stone ruins. By design, the master wanted nothing more than to run to Ven’s aid, but saw his mission in occupying this threat, leading it away from the healing site. His ally would be okay… he had to trust that. 

In a split second jerk. Riku stopped on a dime, sliding onto the ground in time for the beast to tumble over him. He gave a sure slash of his keyblade along its legs to slow it down. The distance seemed good, but if he couldn’t wear it down then he had to find some way to trap the bear. 

It was in his search for a strategy that the Unchained scent wafted in his direction. A moment more, and the earth exploded. 

Riku cried out as the blast sent him into a flying crash back to the ground. An unholy screech echoed across the land and he coughed at the impact of the fall. Alarms were blaring. His heart was pounding as he craned his neck up to see the creature the World birthed. A crystal monster the size of an entire kingdom and glowing a fierce and jealous green crawled out of the earth screaming a deafening wail. Its claws dug not into earth but into reality and those gashes bloomed along every realm of surface.

It loomed in his direction, the moonlight casting a faint shadow through its translucent diamond body. Unconsciously, Riku pushed himself away along the dirt unable to take his eyes away. 

The sight of the things was daunting. An enemy so large and destructive. One hit from its claws would rip him into nothingness… He wasn’t sure a threat this impressive had ever stood before him. 

Sora? Definitely. The swirling Demon Tide haunted his memory. Sora standing before it. Calling upon the Light of the Past and vanquishing the world-ending enemy without fear. He didn’t know how he did it. He wasn’t sure he could stand up to something that impossible.

An image appeared in his head, laced with emotion and meaning but hazy, lacking sharp corners-- like a dream. Sora behind him in tears. His boots stepping forward in the wasteland. His keyblade hoisted before him. A tornado of destruction thrashing about, striking the final two survivors like a vindictive cobra. They’d have to go through him first.

Riku rose to his feet and clenched his fists. Sora wouldn’t give up. He bore witness to that. 

(He told him not to.)

Riku gave a battle cry and launched himself onto the slow-moving arm of the apocalyptic beast. Braveheart flashed in his double grip as he charged up the steep crystal hide. He lept at its screaming maw and swung his keyblade with the power of a master.

He too could destroy giants.

* * *

“Riku,” Terra whispered, seeing the titan’s head recoil as a suspicious figure running atop its arm threw an impressive swing. His successor was a force of nature, landing hit after hit in a savage, desperate art. Despite the darkness around him, that pure light he saw in his childhood self shone once more-- cutting deep through Terra’s anguish. It was inspiring.

“What are you going to do?” The queen asked, unable to comprehend the atrocity ahead.

Terra laid Ven down on the grass. The boy had fallen unconscious during his short exchange with Xigbar, overcome by the pain of his blight. It was reckless, but there was another friend in need. 

“Watch over him for me.”

Terra’s glider appeared in a burst of light and soon the warrior was hurtling through the sky, above the newly formed scars that no amount of resolution could fix. 

Riku’s dance was effective. The creatures’ attempts to move forward and spread the wounds were halted by the constant attacks on its head and joints. A quick scan told Terra that it was only a fraction of the way through its stamina. But maybe Terra could double that. 

The glider dispersed, dropping Terra on the titan’s arm. 

“Sorry I’m late kid,” Terra called out, sending an ether potion Riku’s way. The younger wielder tore his focus from the target, magic returning with an extra wave of relief. He wasn’t alone. Victory seemed a little more possible.

“You can’t get hit,” He warned. Terra nodded intently. Not that the thing was actively attacking them. The titan was a tank and they were set on slowing it down.

But time wasn’t really on their side.

Together, the keyblade wielders gathered their power, setting themselves and their keyblades aglow. Riku nodded, and in one impossibly fast motion, the two launched a devastating strike upon the massive enemy’s crystal jaw. Their image was a streak of light.

And the titan roared, knocked back so intensely that its towering body tipped back. Those claws raked the air in its fall, leaving behind more gashes in the sky. The wielders jumped as the giant crashed into the ground, its body tearing apart the world like it was a rock on wet paper.

The pair landed on solid ground with a pant but didn’t exchange words. This was far from over.

The shrill wind-up sound was proof of that. The pitch rose higher and grew louder, forcing the two to square on the giant rising from its crater with its maw of teeth glowing, charging an orb of energy. The power only mounted. The warning was on Riku’s lips before he could reason through the full situation.

“Run!”

Riku peddled back away from the blistering light the enemy was cradling. Terra was quick to follow, breaking into a run as the titan pulled itself along the ground in pursuit. The glider was back and Riku hopped behind the elder. Frustration welled as the rockets propelled them up faster and faster but not fast enough. 

Terra cleared a great vertical height, just as the titan released the blast of light in a snap of ignition in their direction.

The beam consumed the entire cliffside in a decibel bursting explosion. It was a cylinder of pure linear destruction, drawing a line through the rocks, the trees, the air-- extending out impossibly long into the night horizon. Like someone took a pencil and scratched it out in anger.

Terra and Riku craned their necks around, the glider having just dodged from above. The momentum kept them scaling higher among the moon and the stars, where the wind smacked their faces and the oxygen was thin. It was from this birdseye view that they watched the blast dissipate into a thin line and then nothingness…

The wake of the attack brought a wave of horror to Riku’s face. An artic stone dropped into his gut and his blood ran cold.

Gone. The mountain, the forest-- _the kingdom_ ...the entire skyline warped around a massive, gaping hole in reality. It was just gone. The scar branched into countless smaller cracks as well, creeping wider, _taller_. Rapidly dissolving everything.

Riku had earlier walked the halls of that stone castle the queen called home. Goodwill visitors filled the mess hall. Her little children were running about the grounds in their childish schemes. Horses in the stables, waiting for the next gallop. Merchants on the street anticipating the morning sales... 

And from below, near the scar of void was a familiar sight. Mor’du-- a creature of the stubborn story, desperate for repair. The beast mindlessly stumbled into the void leftover and the strange light swallowed the bear whole. It’s body dissolved into scattering balls of light. 

_Hearts_. Gone. 

From this height, the damage was so clear. So undeniable. The countless craters made from the beast, the ones unhealed by Merida’s magic, the creeping infection of wounds... the World was on its last thread. 

“It’s too late.” Riku said, the racing wind eating his volume. The realization made it true. So entirely, horribly, true. “It’s too late.” 

And Riku didn’t want to concede to such a fact because a failure like this was not something he knew how to handle. But it was right in front of him. The titan was right behind him. By the time they defeated the thing there’s be no ground to stand on. Who knew how many others were taken from that blast… It was _gone_. Not lost or missing. Just gone. 

Riku was shaking. Terra wasn’t much better. 

There was no saving the Land of Fate.

Terra gave a hard turn on the glider toward the tatters of earth, picking up the pace-- possessed. They hit the ground of the stone pillar clearing, a land that had the tranquility of a worship space but marred by an array of smaller gashes. It was miraculously out of the path of the destructive strike but not for long. Terra broke into a run toward the queen and Merida who were encircling Ventus. 

“The cracks have stopped spreading!” Merida offered as Terra got in earshot. She had her hands on his shoulder by the arm where the glowing rivets stalled. As good of news as it was, Terra didn’t react.

“We’re leaving.” His voice was low. Sharp. 

“What?” Elinor blurted, rising to her feet. “W-Where?”

“Off-World. We can’t stay.”

Merida’s eyes bulged. Outrage. “B-But! The kingdom! My home! M-My family!”

Terra threw his hands in a sharp jerk. “They’re gone!” The act of keeping his emotions in check was failing. It was nauseating. “Your family is gone.” His voice was thick. Tears of frustration and grief swam in his eyes. 

“What!?” Merida shook her head in utter shock, her jaw slack. She capitalized on her initial outrage, it was familiar and easy.“No! I- I-- _You’re lying!_ ”

She curled her fist and looked to her stone-faced mother and back to Terra. “He’s lying!”

And under all that fire was anguish that cut clean through him like knives. He couldn’t stand it.

“We don’t have time!” Terra cried. “Don’t--!” He choked on his sob, holding a hand over his mouth defensively. “Don’t make me fail you too!”

Elinor was crying as well. Merida still shaking her head, but another look at her mother silenced her rage. Transformed it into a denial she couldn’t bring herself to voice. Terra coughed the lump out of his throat, letting the urgency of the moment bring him the clarity to think about the task at hand. The escape.

“Ven and I came on our gliders…” Terra breathed, thinking aloud. But they couldn’t return that way. Ven was out of commission and there were three passengers. Riku on the other hand… it was a big scandal when he went missing, Chip and Dale were calling every phone number they knew… because “Riku came on a gummiship.” He stole one and threw it off-grid. 

Terra whipped his head around, only now realizing that Riku was not beside him. 

“Riku!” He shouted, spotting the silver-haired master standing alone in the middle of the shrine of stone pillars. He was still, staring mindlessly at one of the structures. Behind him, the gash oozed its horrible scar, marring the horizon. Terra grabbed at Riku’s shoulders.

“Riku… you came on gummiship… right?”

Riku didn’t register Terra’s presence, instead, he just looked straight ahead. There was a knot in Terra’s gut at the unresponsive reaction.

“That’s… where the Heart of this World is… right?”

The question caught Terra by surprise. Riku’s voice was so quiet. He turned around and met the object of his gaze. One of the pillars in the ancient garden had an ornate engraving at its middle. Three interlocking bears in a Celtic seal… Out of place for sure, but it was the gravity of the seal that took Terra in. Light was drawn to the spot. Of any place in the entire World, this one felt the deepest. 

“Y-Yeah… it is-- what…” 

Riku took a sharp breath in, not taking his eyes off at the sight. The memory played in his mind. Xigbar’s sneering words felt like poison.

  
  


_“Didn’t think there was a fate worse than the darkness, did you? Nothing’s getting swallowed or consumed. The light isn’t falling into an endless, unreachable realm. No, instead, the seams just pop.”_

  
  


Riku was shaking. “Terra?” He sounded so small. Like the child Terra met on the beach of a lonely little play island.

Terra squeezed Riku’s arms in response.

“Do you trust me?” 

Terra curled his brow. Alarms blaring. His breath quickened with his pounding heart. Mystified. Scared. Riku’s expression was unreadable all but for the immense pain on his face. The clock was ticking. The World was falling apart. Terra swallowed.

“What are you thinking?”

Riku’s eyes were glassy. He had never seen him cry. At least, not since that day on the beach. 

“I’m going to save this World.”

Riku’s keyblade materialized in his hand. The beast was screeching in the distance. “Please stand back.”

“What… what are you doing Riku?” Terra asked stepping back. The worry was overtaking him.

The younger ignored him, grabbing the hilt of his blade with two hands. It suddenly seemed so much heavier than before. After a slow exhale, a swirl of magic encircled the tip of the key charging an otherworldly power unique to such a weapon. This ability. It was foundational. 

A thin beam of light erupted from the tip of Riku’s keyblade. It shot onto the stone pillar’s emblem… where a shimmering keyhole appeared. 

And Terra understood what was happening. Riku’s mouth was a line. His eyes were distant throughout the process.

  
  


There was a resounding _click_ as the keyhole unlocked. 

  
  


Merida and Elinor walked into the clearing carrying Ven’s body just as the moonlight seemed to dim. The wind started to pick up. It threw the princess’s hair in wild directions signaling the alarm. They set the injured down.

“What’s happening?” The wind was roaring now. Almost loud enough to drown out the shrieks from the abomination in the distance. The first sliver of darkness drifted into the air.

“A-A storm?” Merida asked in disbelief. 

Riku clenched his fists. They hadn’t noticed the inky blackness pepper the air yet. 

But the Elinor screamed. At her foot was a pitch-black creature with glowing yellow eyes pulling itself from the shadows. Its twitching antenna wiggled free first, followed by its claws and body. The creature was not alone and the grass rippled under their congregation, drawn to her light.

The Heartless had come.

The Ends of the Earth cleaved the nearest Shadow into dust. Terra’s eyes were open wide. Wild. He trembled before the enemy. The enemy he thought he’d never see like this again. 

They swarmed the heart-site like moths to a flame, their beady eyes a fitting firefly likeness. Around them, the darkness flew through the torrenting winds along with a kick of grass and tree and stone. It was a vortex. The sky was a sick purple, still peppered with luminescent holes from the Unchained attack. This was… this was Darkness. 

The fear was primal. In an instant, Terra was on top of Riku grabbing him by his white cloak. “What did you do!?” He screamed, shaking Riku’s still form. “ _What did you do!?”_

He knew what he had done. Riku lifted his chin but his eyes were downcast as Terra’s rage bore against him. Why. Terra wanted to know _why._

“This is the only way,” Riku responded through gritted teeth, fighting back the emotion. Terra halted his assault. Above them, a vortex of darkness spat and swirled, pulsing a sinister red. For Riku, it was an unfortunately familiar sight.

“I opened the heart. Tied it to the darkness…”

Soon to be completely eclipsed.

“The darkness…” Terra spoke the word like a poison. Decades of resentment toward the force only covered a fraction of his woes. 

“Sora saved them before…” Riku whispered. And then more hesitantly, “...he can do it again.”

“But, Riku…” Terra breathed, resigned to the sense of hopelessness. “ _Sora’s gone._ ”

The Heartless were everywhere. Merida and Elinor were dragging Ven’s body by the arms along the receding grass toward the conversing pair. Around them, the shadows crept and multiplied, like a flooding black pool. Chunks of earth and stone were ripping apart into the black hole in the sky now.

“I know.”

It was something only Riku could do. Opening the heart. Igniting the flood of darkness in the same way he had his home World. And after all this time, after all the growth and learning, his hands were dirty. 

Terra understood this horrible weight far too well. He held his breath staring at Riku’s chimera of emotions. The anguish, the shame, the determination, the hope, the despair… and as much as it hurt to see him do this. Terra _did_ trust him. He trusted him enough to carry on his power-- to fight for the light. And he had to trust him now.

“We need to get out of here,” He said after a long pause.

There was a swell of relief and Riku nodded curtly. 

“This is different.” Merida’s voice was low. Laced in palpable anxiety. She adjusted Ven’s arms. “Something’s changed.”

A keen observation from a Princess of Heart. She could probably feel the temperature shift in relation to the nature of the destruction. The trees shook and trembled in the forest behind them. Off in the distance, vegetation and stone were being plucked into the growing black hole in the sky. 

“You said there was a way out of this.” The queen pushed Terra, but her eyes kept flickering over to Merida. The Princess was looking more and more ill as the moments ticked by. Her stature was wobbling, holding onto Ventus more as an anchor for herself than him. She probably saw it as a crash from the rush of emotions but Riku recognized it as the Light inside her frantically searching for an escape. He had seen it before in Kairi’s dead-eyed stare, moments before taking refuge inside Sora.

Riku pulled out his gummiphone from his back pocket. Pulling up his map of the World, he zoomed in on his location marker. The typhoon raged around them.

“The gummiship is an older model-- we don’t have remote access.”

Of course, the older models were harder to track that way. But this was a death sentence in Terra’s mind. “Where’s the nearest Point?” There was a good chance it had dissolved with the rest of the castle. 

Riku looked over Terra’s shoulders where the Unchained titan continued to tear apart the earth with digging claws.

“The ruins.”

A shuddered breath. That set Terra’s teeth on edge. Right in the mouth of sure destruction.

There really wasn’t a debate.

There were few escort missions with this degree of stakes. Riku and Terra tore through the swarm of Heartless like adventurers in a thicket of vines. They paved a path along the field, careful to avoid the still aching cracks of lost reality littered among the only solid footholds of the World. Meanwhile, Elinor and Merida ran quickly behind, Terra noting how much more nimble to two were in comparison to the fondly regarded Cinderella. In this case, the elder keyblade wielder was the slow one. Ven’s body jostled limp on his back throughout the never-ending attacks. 

The phenomenon of watching two separate apocalyptic events ravish a single World was twice as horrifying. The darkness tore the world like a hurricane and the unraveling of light burned the land into nothing. The black and purple void swirled in the cavernous emptiness of this now painfully small world. The horizon undulated, close and short, smothered by the mountain of darkness. 

And below that was the titan, pulling at the fabric of the World like it was a blanket. Raking everything into a vat of illuminated disintegration. If the rattling dark storm was a hindrance, the mindless thing showed no regard at the moment. 

They drew closer to the beast as it stood before the mountainside ruins. The swell of shadows from the ground only served as an endless nuisance. Terra scanned the dying land for the tell-tale glow of the gummiship transaction point, scattered indiscriminately around the World at a traveler’s arrival. Riku referred to his gummiphone as often as he could. Their slowing pace at the appearance of the jagged stones of the old kingdom’s court made the heartless encounters all the more arduous. 

Meanwhile, the Shadows loomed, congealing together with greed and tackling the escaping party. They made quick work of every ambush, but there was always another one waiting. The black vortex in the sky was at a monumental size now. Its gravity was stronger than any torrenting gust.

From a distance, Xigbar watched, at his feet crouched the Unchained Aced.

“There isn’t much time,” Aced said, observing the desperate escape. There was a string of tension in his voice. Uncertainty. Maybe guilt.

“Riku definitely shortened the timer for us. But… they’ll make it.” His voice was even. 

Aced watched the titan he unleashed suddenly buck against the black hole. There was a scream and the appearance of swarming shadows upon its sick light became clear. The sound stopped the escaping party in a bout of surprise before they forged ahead.

“Was… was this for naught? The heart is falling to darkness… ”

Xigbar did not tear his eyes away from the destruction. “I’ll give him credit. Never has darkness like this been so hopeful. Preserving what’s left in the realm of shadows. Though getting it back out won’t be as easy as it was before…

“But, the Unraveling…” 

Xigbar glanced briefly at his brother.

“Remember, it’s not so much about the _World_ destabilizing.” And as if to finish his point, he directed Aced’s gaze forward once again.

Trailing behind, Merida stumbled onto the floor of the ruins. The sudden illness that was hindering her from before was draining her of vitality. Fatigued, her eyes half-lidded, her motions lackluster and hindered-- as though moving through water. The Princess of Heart was suffering from the very defense mechanism meant to preserve the precious Light inside her heart. 

“Merida!” Her mother cried falling back to aid her daughter to her feet. 

“ _Mum?_ ” The girl said in a worried daze. She gave a labored breath and a whimper escaped her. She didn’t understand what was going on. The queen scrambled to get a hold of her daughter.

“I-I’m here love. We are almost there.”

Terra slowed in alarm, weighed down by Ven and darting his eyes from the charges and Riku’s running form. The master hadn’t registered the moment. He stared intently at the coordinates, eager salvation just up ahead. The portal was just beyond this bend. He slashed through the Heartless baring down ahead, but for a devastating moment too long, he forgot the ones from behind.

“Riku!” Terra called out, before turning toward the royal pair. His steps were too slow. He gripped the one leg he had Ven secured with tighter still.

The pursuing wave of Heartless reared above the princess and queen. Elinor taking in the sight of countless eyes of yellow ready to consume the all too radiant light in their midst. She laid herself on top of Merida instinctually. Protectively. 

Riku tore himself around in time to see a tide of shadows engulf the queen.

“The damage here is done. We’ll let them have their expensive hope.” Xigbar said while the stoic master screamed in horror. He was a bolt of lightning and beat Terra to the site slashing through the tower right above the princess. Darkness dissolved into nothing around Merida. There was nothing before her. No one. Gone.

Aced registered the meaning of Xigbar’s decree. “You mean… the box?”

Riku hoisted the princess into his arms as her heart ignited into a terrible fire. She was screaming for her mother in a way that dug a knife into his own heart. Tears spilling down her cheeks and outrage rippling through her limbs. Riku was dragging her thrashing body toward the glowing platform while Terra warded away the encroaching Heartless with his own handicap. 

The princess with all her light was cracking. What a horror to witness. How sad. 

Xigbar gave a knowing smile. The joy reached his yellow eye and he gave a nod at Aced’s question. “Two down.”

And a corridor of darkness leaped behind them. Xigbar gave a casual wave for Aced to follow him while preserving the final image of the ensemble’s warp to the gummiship. Meanwhile, the screaming titan covered in darkness was lifted to the sky and swallowed by the black hole. 

* * *

Upon the gummiship, Terra collapsed before the broken body of his friend, the glowing cracks having begun their destructive spread across his face once again. The wails of a displaced princess rattled the cockpit and raked savage cracks into Riku as well. His fingers danced along the consol, weighed down by the loop of memories burned into his mind. 

And as the ship retreated from the space, they watched the last bit of light from the Land of Fate succumb to the black. 

-X...Continue?-


	15. Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game plan is slow to form for Sora and the answers and intentions around him aren't as clear to him as he'd like. Behind the scenes, something is moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wait and the incredible response to the last chapter's climatic happenings. When you're building towards a series of events and finally reach it, the writing speed just flies. Now, as a result, this chapter took some time not only because the holiday season kept me busy and I was plagued with sicknesses, but this arc is decidedly more tricky to get right. So, writing speed suffered even over the break. If you need a refresher for the feeling and events, we last saw Sora and Sora's new fan-boy friend Shoto Sawada in chapter 12, bonding and learning a bit more about the situation.

The city lights poured into the small apartment like a sleepy gummiship surrounded by stars. Stark shadows cut along the bare wood floors emphasizing the lack of furniture and personal items. In short, unlived-- even despite the slow breathing bouncing along the corner of the room. But the naked walls caught the dull roar of the nightlife like a violin soundboard. The snoring seemed to blend in with that lonely rabble.

The young warrior slept in a tangle of blankets-- heedless to his waking stress. It was a true release. An escape. He was gone to the world.

There was an industrial creak. 

The knob to the front door lock cycled a complete 180 and filled the apartment with the echo of a retreating internal contraption.

Tentatively, the doorknob followed, slow. The hinges gave stifled squeals. The sleeping tenant was none the wiser as his residence welcomed a guest.

The new arrival took a quiet step inside, stepping over the genkan entrance apologetically with impolite shoes donned. An arm wrapped in two rustling plastic bags slipped past the closing door and it was a miracle the dead didn’t wake. 

The guest was deliberate in their actions. Those shoes stepped over the cord of the abandoned game controller with only a moment of consideration. No, the small kitchenette was the destination. The plastic grocery bags landed on the counter space with the clattering jangle of apartment keys. The refrigerator door was the target. Its blinding light exploded into the kitchen and the bags were emptied.

The doors closed. A sigh. The mission was complete. 

“ _Riku…_ ” 

How clear. Delicate. A voice so familiar and perfect. It was recognizable even while muffled in the fabric of bedding and the obstruction of lazy lips. 

Yet another sigh.

Sora’s dreaming voice grunted from his sleeping quarters. A shiver trembled through the intruder. Sick curiosity pulled those shoes toward the sounds of distress. The floor creaked with the steps. Anticipation fluttered instinctually around their heart.

The young boy’s sleeping face was now gripped with a nightmare. His eyes were sealed shut. His teeth gnashed against his vocal plea. 

“ _No, Riku… don’t…”_

Sora muttered against his visions, whatever they may be. The blankets curled into his desperate grip. His eyes fluttered behind his lids and his breathing picked up. He was helpless.

“ _Riku…_ ” The name was a moan. A cry. Poor thing.

The guest defied the logic to slip out before the nightmare woke the tenant. Instead, they approach the sleeping fantasy like an altar. They sat beside his form with the reverence of a kneel. The proximity was electrifying and the intruder shuddered before him. 

That’s when a tear spilled down Sora’s sleeping face, seeping from the cracks of anguished eyes. The sight cut through the watcher. A ripple of guilt and sympathy echoed through them.

Gingerly, the guest reached a hand forward and cupped his face. The hot tear dripped onto their palm. They smiled through a swell of emotions of their own and wiped the tear track with their thumb. 

“I’m so sorry.” They whispered. The time was stolen. The intruder slipped out moments later. Heart stirring. 

* * *

_ <I’m happy that you made a friend, but I’m surprised you are hanging out two days in a row.> _

Sora did his best not to let the mysterious track of salt on his face he woke to set the mood of his morning, but shaking the sleep was a challenge. He felt the lull of the train ride ease him in and out of consciousness like a hypnotic pendulum. Only the ping of the phone anchored him to reality now. The responding process was notably challenging but the easy prick of attitude in his gut pushed his fingers along the screen. 

_ >Hanging out is what friends do right? Don’t tell me friends have a different definition here…< _

It wouldn’t surprise him, but he might throw something against a wall if Anon responded to anything other than the negative. He _must_ have been tired.

_ <No, I guess I’m really just surprised at how fast you’ve warmed up to this Sawada.> _

Sora stepped off the train at the familiar stop and followed the crowd out of the station all the while considering his response. The mouth of the station was like an upstream river so Sora retreated to side like they were rocks among the current. 

_ >He believes me. He’s a really good guy.< _

Tip of the iceberg. He could say so much more but Sora wasn’t used to justifying his friendships. He frankly liked everyone he met. Being with them was like breathing. Them treating him in a way that was gratifying and kind was just a bonus. Despite the denial, Sora had a suspicion that maybe friends _did_ work differently in this strange world. 

The tourists and locals milled about the mouth of the familiar two-tiered shopping park. Sawada would be arriving soon. 

_ <Yeah about that…> _

Well. On a top 10 list of ways to spike anxiety through written word, that ranked pretty high. Fortunately, the follow-up email was faster than usual. 

_ <You do remember there’s someone out there that not only knows your secret but believes it enough to send you a threat> _

Ah. Like swallowing the mouthful of vegetables. Bitter, uncooked, fruits of the earth. A grimace.

The controller. The package and subsequent warning. If he was honest the time spent with Sawada the day before bathed his memories and almost washed the mystery from his list of concerns completely. 

_ >I haven’t forgotten.< _ It was easier to bend the truth through this medium. And Sora was a notoriously bad liar.

_ <So don’t you think letting others know your secret might be a bad idea?> _

Sora felt his hackles raise with full tension. This flavor of defense coursing through him felt particularly cold. Like a brain freeze for his insides which contrarily stirred a hot reflex. He had to actively silence a bursting defense from his throat. 

So Sora frowned and his fingers flew across the keyboard.

_ >He believes me. I don’t think that applies here< _

Sora reread the exchange while waiting for the response, not sure of his tone. Texting was hard. 

_ <I’m amazed he does believe you. Others aren’t that nice, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.> _

The memory of Yoshida’s sneering heckles filled his mind’s eyes and ears. He spent his days in class recovering from the senseless cruelty by venting that reality to Anon. That first night. The stares. The dripping disdain in Inoue’s judgment moments after Sawada’s salvation. It formed a stone in his throat. Anon wasn’t wrong. 

_ <I’m sorry. I just don’t want anyone hurting you…> _

Sora felt a sense of unease slowly slip away from his lungs. The resistance to Sawada seemed to defy Anon's earlier missions towards friendship and that bothered him… but the package on his doorstep must have been enough to shake his knowledgeable ally. On some level Sora understood the defensive angle of his mysterious friend was coming from.

_ >I’ll be careful.< _

“Sora!”

He pulled his face from the phone screen to see Sawada running to him from the station. 

“Sorry I got a little turned around!” Sawada gave an extra pant with his minor exerted effort. Around them, shoppers parted like they were stones in a river. Sora gave an amused chuckle and crossed his arms. 

“I thought you were the native here.”

“Hey, the only people that frequent this shopping district are tourists and salarymen.”

Sora gave a customary look around the lower floor of the two-tiered underground shopping mall. It resembled a large and renovated cave that traveled underneath a swath of vehicle congestion on the surface. He gave a sharp gesture to his companion and the two joined the flow of foot traffic along stores. 

Not even two steps in did the pair have to sharply dodge the ogling halt of ignorant sightseeing shoppers. 

“You’re not kidding.” Sora mused, but he sounded a lot less irritated than Sawada who clicked his tongue. 

“But that makes me once again ask-- _why here?_ ” Sawada narrowed his eyes as they passed a high-end sportswear pop-up. He made a point to drag his gaze across their vantage point, following the loud conversation of a passing suit. 

Sora shrugged. “You asked where I wanted to go and I kinda only know one place.”

As if to put punctuation on his situation, Sora stopped walking and looked up. 

“ -- _Tully’s Cafe_?” Sawada read the illuminated sign, taking note of the morning congestion. It was a popular place considering the ensembles taking advantage of the patio seating. “You know it’s not really a famous spot or anything.”

“The food’s pretty good.” It reminded him of the Twilight Town Bistro. 

“Of course the food is good. It _should_ be good with a price tag like that.” Sawada gestured to a proud advertisement on the window for a fancy themed chocolate crepe. The bell rang at the swing of the door and the pair stepped into a cozy modern eating establishment. He gave a pained snarl as he took in the milling population by the register counter. 

They eventually took a seat after Sawada ordered a drink for Sora and himself (‘You can’t take too long deciding these things, trust me’). It was the seat by the window Sora was starting to habitually claim in his visits here.

“I hope you like coffee.”

He didn’t. “You didn’t have to buy my drink.” 

Sawada sat down while the barista worked on their order. “Consider it a friendly gesture.”

He smiled. “Then you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

Sawada made a face and shooed Sora’s comment away before finding a distraction in the milling pedestrians out the window. A slew of weekend tourists with bags of purchased goods. He blinked thoughtfully before breaking their comfortable pause.

“Well you know, it’s been bugging me but I just remembered that you were asking the other day about a package sent to you… why did you think me or Inoue sent it to you?”

Sora perked up, having almost forgotten about it. “Oh!” He summoned his phone and pawed through the applications. “It’s… I don’t know. It was creepy.”

He summoned a poorly snapped picture of the evidence he sent to Anon. The address-less box and the video game controller. They were a little blurry from Sora’s nerves at the time. 

“I found this on my doorstep a few days ago. It’s such a vague thing to send… Anon thought it was a message… that someone knew I’m not from around here.” Sora didn’t notice Sawada narrow his eyes at the mention of Anon, but he said nothing, opting instead to examine the straightforward pictures with pursed lips. 

“It could mean a lot of things,” Sawada seemed lost in thought if not a little daunted by the possibilities. “And you thought us following you meant we left this message as well?”

“That’s roughly the idea.”

Sawada tossed his head to the side like his skull was a wine glass stirring for thoughts. “Well, I’ll be honest, I _suspected_ that you were… well-- _you_ the moment you introduced yourself in class-- like I _recognized you--_ but I didn’t _know_ you know?” A self-deprecating bark. Self-conscious. “So I didn’t send it… I was actually asking Inoue to help me figure you out at the time…”

For some reason this twisted Sora’s gut ever so slightly. It was a confusing series of decisions. ‘ _Figure you out’_ \-- What did that even mean? Why didn’t he just ask him? He didn’t want to think about how this information colored that moment on the street when Sora bared his heart, petrified that no one would believe him. 

_ <Find the sender. They could really mess things up if they started blabbing.> _ Anon had messaged _._

“What are the chances that someone else also just ‘suspected’ the truth…? ” Sora asked hesitantly. His friend made a curious face, clasping his hands together and fidgeting his thumbs around each other. 

“Low,” There was a strange tension in his voice. Reflective. He seemed pained before releasing it into his animated gesticulations. “I mean it’s _possible._ But like-- if they sent you something, it’s not because they believe it to be true.”

“Would you help me find the sender?” Sora felt the sharp pull of a purpose. Determination and an ally at arms. 

Sawada raised his brow. “I mean of course,” There was a pause. Like Sawada wanted to say more. His gaze was curious and narrow. Sora didn’t like it.

“What?” Worry laced his tone.

“What makes you think your Anon didn’t send you the controller?”

Sora recoiled at the suggestion. It was practically scandalizing. “Excuse me?”

“He knows who you are right? And you said he set up your place… What if he sent it to you?”

“Anon didn’t send it,” Sora countered feeling a swell of discomfort around him like a fast-rising tide. “They were just as surprised as me.” _They’re my friend._

Sawada didn’t seem convinced. “ _Sure_.”

Graciously, the barista called Sawada’s order. Sora breathed a sigh of relief as he departed to get the drinks. He didn’t expect to get the hard questions… why would anyone think Anon sent him something like a controller with vaguely threatening connotations? What purpose would it serve? It just didn’t make sense.

“And don’t you think it’s just strange.” Sawada voice broke the uncomfortable reverie to carry on the uncomfortable subject, carrying the closed-lid drinks to the table that Sora claimed. “Why would someone ask you to go to the _same_ public establishment, _every_ day, at a _particular_ time, for no reason whatsoever.” He handed him the cup wreathed in a cardboard slip.

“Thank you,” Sora said accepting the beverage. He forced himself to focus on the cup instead of the question mindlessly. In that urgency to ignore his own mental agreement with Sawada’s off-handed analysis, he dove for the first swig of the cup. 

Sora immediately spluttered as the bitter liquid hit his tongue. “ _Hot_!” He shrieked and what he recognized as coffee spilled from both his wounded mouth and assaulting cup onto the circular cafe table.

“ _Ack_! Careful!” Sawada responded and attempted to identify where some napkins were. Sora just held a hand to his mouth a little more preoccupied with his stinging tongue than embarrassment. It wasn’t a _big_ mess.

There were a couple of sidelong glances from other customers that he then noticed, Sawada now at a self-service table… Sora was surprised to feel his face flush. He shrank back.

“Here.”

The voice was remarkably soft-spoken, cutting through any expectations and summoning a vivid tidal-wave of stomach-flipping yearning. Similar enough to remind Sora of his hungry heart. The perfect inflection to bring rise to an inconvenient reality. He sucked in a breath and saw the offered kindness.

One of the cafe’s employees was holding out a handful of napkins, a wash of concern on her face. Sora swallowed back the swell of simple emotions. A foolish heart too willing to jump to the faintest resemblance. Sure she was pretty and the way she knitted her eyes in polite pity was reminiscent, but she wasn’t…

Kairi.

Instead of a shock of red, she had a shock of pitch-black hair pulled up in a bun. Her face was slightly more angular and mature. Her eyes were narrow and dark as opposed to almond-shaped and sparkling. Nothing like her... so why...

Sora didn’t respond fast enough. Instead, the employee’s eyes drifted in the awkwardness, allowing her to notice the small pool of coffee spill over the edge of the table. 

“Oh!” She took to action, crouching down to meet the spill as it dripped onto his shoe. “I’m sorry!”

That snapped Sora back to life and he grabbed from the pile of napkins. He was earnestly patting at the mess with the flimsy tissue with her. 

“What are _you_ apologizing for?” He was genuinely scandalized but there was a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m the one who went and made a mess!” He looked the girl in the eye with an amused raise of his brow. 

She retreated like a turtle because he was just a little too close. From this distance, he could see that her brown eyes were glassy and slightly bloodshot, as though she suffered from allergies. There was the familiar urge to ask for her name or introduce himself. Although disappointed, his heart fluttered at the idea of another friend and jumped at the scenario.

“Uh… I-- I’ll clean the rest…” She said quickly, getting to her feet. She performed a curt bow, hands clasped in front of her. “If I might suggest one of our booths?”

“Sure...” Sora said absently. He couldn’t help a slight tinge of disappointment as the employee focused-in on the work in single-minded determination. Effectively shutting down the brief stir of hope. Sawada was approaching the windows having drained the napkin dispenser.

“What are we doing?”

Sora urged Sawada to follow him to the booth in the darker part of the cafe as the worker bussed the table. “Oh great! Away from the windows. That’s better anyway.”

“Should I ask?” 

“Well, It’s like I was saying… Why would this Anon fellow ask you to go to a specific public place at a specific time for no reason whatsoever? My guess is--” Sawada encircled his fingers around his eyes like binoculars. “-- to watch you.”

Sora jerked in response, suddenly remembering why he so fervently chugged a cup of boiling hot coffee he didn’t even like. “I was _fed_.”

Sawada took a careful sip of his coffee. He seemed to enjoy it more than him. “Common courtesy.”

Sora clenched his teeth but felt defenseless. “There’s no _proof_ …” he trailed. 

“Sure, but there’s enough circumstantial evidence to be a little more wary. Don’t you think?”

“ _Look_ ‘Anon’s’ done nothing but help me...” Sora started with a string of discomfort. He didn’t want to have this conversation _again._

“--By buying your admission into Soroku High School. _Very_ generous. It makes you wonder why?”

“What?” That caught him off guard. Sure Inoue said something about a big donation. Most of her words from that day melded together. They hurt that bad.

“I’m… surprised you didn’t know… _huh_.” Sawada took a long sip of his coffee. “Well, Inoue wasn’t lying. She saw the school records spelling out that someone posed as your father is a big donor to the school… and there are no records of your entrance exam.”

“Entrance exam?” The name was self-explanatory and the other students mentioned it from time to time but he wasn’t sure… Sawada got a crazed twinkle in his eye, elated at the mystery. 

“ _Yeah!_ What are the chances _that’s_ your Anon?” 

Sora swallowed, at a loss. There was a potent twist in his chest. The barely contained enthusiasm before him wasn’t helping.

“I don’t know…” There was a flurry of hot tension in his bones. His mind finished the conclusion with warring flavors. 

“I don’t think that he’s _actually_ your father… but if he’s posing as someone and throwing money around, we are potentially talking about a pretty powerful person.”

Sora felt his fingers slip into his hair at the scalp. He was easing his spinning head onto a stable pedestal. Sawada’s tone was far too bubbly.

Anon got him past the entrance exam with a bribe? 

\--to give him a chance to make friends?

\--to keep him where he wants him?

To keep him safe…?

“I’ve got chills. What if he’s watching us… what if he’s here now!”

_“--What’s so wrong with being watched!”_ Sora snapped. He didn’t really believe his own defense but his muscles felt like coiled springs. Sawada’s nervous grin disappeared into a small line. He leaned back. Sora’s head was buzzing but his heart hurt more, like a slow-moving poison meandering around his chest. It made his next inhale cold and painful. 

“I have no reason _not_ to trust them!” Teeth wound tight together. Hands on the table. A thick cord of denial coated his nerves. Vulnerable. Protect. Breathe.

“S-So what if they don’t show their face! They talk to me. They give me advice. They’ve been there for me making sure I can survive in this… this _stupid_ place.”

Even in the shock of his friend’s desperate words, Sawada appeared nervous--looking around in a panic. Sora’s volume was rising. He felt the vulnerable fear settle into something more akin to anger. 

“So what if they got me into that school?--I’m not supposed to _exist_ here! If they want me to visit a random cafe every day-- why should I say no? It’s my choice… So.. can you... can you please lay off?”

Sora’s heart was pounding as the words spilled from his mouth like the coffee earlier. Just as bitter. He clenched his fists and heaved a panting breath. 

Sawada looked small, crouching low in the cafe booth, words struggling to escape his uncomfortable expression as he looked around. “Ah… aa…”

Sora realized he was standing up in the relatively docile cafe and that plenty of eyes were on him. A slap of cold water. Awkwardly he eased back into his seat, red-faced and speechless. His friend ran a hand through his hair to diffuse some of his own tension and in a low voice broke the silence as the cafe’s volume returned to average ambient levels.

“Look… I’m sorry… like… _really_ sorry.” Sawada was avoiding all eye contact. Though perfectly sober, Sora wasn’t ready to speak. 

“I just… don’t want you getting hurt.”

Those exact words were in his chat archives with Anon. Sora swallowed. A wave of shame pummeling his defenses.

“No… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.” Slowly, Sora grabbed at his coffee and slid it over to his other hand in a short exchange. The urge to fiddle with his hands was stronger than ever before. “You make really good points… I’m just not really ready to crack that mystery yet.”

There was a sad smile on Sawada’s face like he only just now registered the weight hanging around his friend but couldn’t help but admire him for the strength. 

On the relatively quiet train ride, Sora prompted the strategy for discovering the sender of his package from last week. The rocking force of the train rolling along the subway system reminded the islander of his childhood sailing exploits, lulling any residual tension and scattering the lingering thoughts from earlier. It made him more of a listener to Sawada’s knowledgeable company. Seemingly more hesitant to speak, Sawada zoomed into the picture on the phone screen with a quick swipe of his fingers before adding his thought.

“It’s a standard model PS2 dualshock. I wonder…” 

Sawada then wiped out his own phone and started furiously typing along the keyboard, a stuttering internet search bar flickering with his inquiry. He stopped after scanning the hits.

“If I can get my hands on the serial number… it would potentially match the number of the corresponding console.”

Sora didn’t understand a lick of what that meant. “Really?”

Sawada’s expression was serious and lost in thought as he danced between the two screens. “In theory. These systems are actually climbing up there in years so there’s a chance the public records might not go back that far, but with the right software… we might be able to track down the sale point of the unit and get a better picture of who owned it.”

“All of that?” Sora couldn’t contain his surprise. It was a stark contrast to the demure mood blanketed between them since the transit began motion. 

“That’s like the best-case scenario. Companies keep track of where the units are sold and when. We can narrow down the where...From there, stores potentially keep logs on the buyers, but this thing is older than most of our classmates. The chances of those businesses keeping the logs and letting us see them are close to 0.”

That didn’t sound like a good lead. Sawada held his chin. 

“But… that means there’s a chance it went through resale stores, which keep profiles on customers for trade-in purposes. It’s not a great lead but it’s not a bad start.”

Sora blinked in his attempt to understand the flow of logic. Coming up blank, he found it didn’t matter and instead gave a soft smile. “I’d be happy to get rid of it.”

* * *

Shoto Sawada closed the door to his home, carrying the classic controller against his chest. The cord was wrapped between the analog sticks but still trailed it’s rectangular port along his waist. He gave a customary cry out to his mother as he shed his shoes. The shuffle of his mother’s feet was like a theme song to his every entry and she was particularly fast this afternoon.

“You’re late!” She didn’t even give him a welcome.

“I’m sorry. I stopped by Sora’s place to borrow something.”

The older woman narrowed her eyes at the controller in his hand with recognition. She couldn’t fight the impulsive observation. “Oh, I hope he’s not as fascinated by those ‘video games’ as you. I’d really like for you to surround yourself with more academic-focused friends.”

She was so remarkably blunt. So much for her glowing review of his new friend the day before. Shoto rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry…” He started climbing the nearby stairs to reach his bedroom.

“But that reminds me.” The matriarch seemed to light up and her son humored her with a pause. “You had a visitor while you were out. Why didn’t you tell me you were selected to give a testimony for the Teacher’s Association Review?”

His face contorted in confusion. “The what?” He sharply turned to look his mother in the eye. She seemed irritated by his reaction.

“The Teacher’s Association Review-- it’s a local publication. Your school counselor paid a visit to get a quick profile, but you were out. He’s such a quirky fellow-- and surprisingly funny!”

The school counselor? He vaguely recalled a school assembly introducing that part-time staffer. The name escaped him but he kept quiet about that to hide the vulnerability his mom would pounce on. “That’s news to me…”

“Oh! He made it sound like you knew… but no worries _Sho-chan_. He said he’d catch you sometime during the week if he wasn’t busy.”

Shoto was a little mystified at the news. He gave an awkward laugh. “Okay… that’s... neat.” He spluttered trying to shuffle out of his mother’s conversational grasp without offending her. 

“I’ll say! Now do your best in the interview when it happens. This is the kind of stuff people dig up in the future.”

The controller felt heavy in his hand. He could almost hear his computer monitor hum its siren song. “Sure thing.” He was pushing himself up the stairs while he nodded. He heard her sigh loudly as he shut the door to his room. 

The dark reprieve of his merchandise covered room swallowed him in a strange sort of peace. As a reminder, the illustrated poster containing his friend’s likeness bore down on him, seated like a king. He tried to imagine how he would feel if it was like a picture of _himself…_ It didn’t really elicit any chills… But it had been enough to freeze Sora in his tracks. Confusing as it was, Sawada gave a supportive nod to the character on the poster as though it'd somehow acknowledge him. He was going to help.

And it was time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm setting the stage~
> 
> So I think it's safe to say Sora in this situation behaves a little differently than what we are used to-- and even his fanboy friend has recognized this in chapters prior. And I'm kinda running on the logic of extremes. I've completely isolated him. I've damaged his sense of identity. I've stripped him of his powers and his friendships and left him with no leads whatsoever. He is in an extreme environment that theoretically brings out his insecurities and negative tendencies. But on the flip side, you can see where his values lie. His desire for friendship and trust. IV[or]y is just as much a character study as it is a theory playground. 
> 
> Which brings me to Re:Mind. I can't for the life of me predict everything in Re:mind and nor was my attempt to be entirely canon-compliant. That being said I have been entirely vague on the rescue of Kairi and the events leading up to the secret ending and desperately hope that it can weasel itself into the fic cause that'd be neat. I will wait until after Re:mind to address the divergence. (I'll say it now, Yozora is gonna be the key factor, I had/have plans for him). The rest is prayin' a little. IV[or]y is going to chug along as planned and I don't plan to sacrifice my ideas for the sake of being non-divergent.
> 
> Anyway. Thank you for reading and leaving me your comments.


	16. Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting friends. I took a break after Re:Mind so I could reassess the story and the sky started falling so now I have tons of free time.

Sora reunited with Court Magician, Donald Duck on the Tokyo Metro. 

The plastic-encased charm clattered next to an assortment of cartoon cats, twinkling jewels, a house key, and a Metro pass. Sora was staring-- clinging with one hand to the dangling handle from the ceiling while the train cart slowly filled to capacity at one of the many station stops. The jerk from the routine breaking vehicle was only to blame for a fraction of his surprised reaction.

Because... it _was_ Donald. The white-feathered, yellow-billed _duck_. His image was illustrated and smiling, presenting his feathered hands in a showman-like presentation. It was a gesture that encapsulated the surly, prideful bird to an amusing point, tickling some familiar quadrant of Sora’s mind. 

Soon after finding that he was a fictional character from a popular role-playing video game series, Sora quickly discovered the blessed origins of his compatriots. Namely the King. The mouse’s characteristic silhouette was probably the most common iconography commercially visible-- which initially implied to Sora that the “Lucky Emblem” superstition extended to an unfathomable multi-universal mythos. But much like his own illustrated depictions, the recognition of these characters grew into a disturbing sight. It created discomfort on the fringes of his sense of the physical concept. Uncanny. 

(It’s like-- he’s stood _beside_ him. He’s traveled and laughed and argued with this _duck_ without so much as a second glance. Sora had to resist the urge to look at his own hands, the light and detail didn’t match his memories and it made him sick.)

As a result, Sora was in no hurry for anymore context about his out-of-place companionship.

Oh, but that didn’t matter to the train passenger-- a middle school-aged girl, lightly swaying her bag clipped with the garnish of cute baubles and trinkets. Funny, Donald in this setting was very much grouped in the ‘cute’ category. He’d blow a lid if he told him. Probably start squabbling into incoherence. Predictably protesting the infantile demotion. 

A huff of amusement escaped him at the thought, tearing a nearby passenger from their phone. They looked at Sora’s poorly aimed gaze with hesitation. Sora blinked away the creep of self-consciousness. He let the racing sights from the window capture his attention for the rest of the journey to school instead.

* * *

No memory could cut through the uncertainty created when your arrival resulted in a sudden hush. His classmates were in their standard formation; lounging on desks, standing over the comfortable early arrivals, chattering by the windows, reading in the corner. The tired, yet buzzing energy of the morning created a dull murmur behind the door that flickered a notch in volume as Sora slid the door open to the sight.

Then, the silence.

Conversations (at least a number of them) dipped immediately from the various cliques of friend groups as they registered his presence. He’d’ve blamed the distraction of his entrance and the novelty of his general attendance if not for the other half of the class’s sudden spike of sensational thrill. 

“Oh does he know?” A voice cooed.

“...I knew there was something about him--” A distracted rant.

“Shh! Shh! He just walked in,”--As whispered to an obstructed gentleman.

The awkwardness flooded the still moment. Sora stepped inside like the air was made of syrup. His stomach twisted instantly and a cold chill lingered through his limbs. Around him were alarm bells, unable to really decide if the tension preceded a snap of violent conflict. 

It was taken out of his hands when a familiar student suddenly rose from his chair, the legs scraping across the floor in a dramatic scene. 

Sawada’s expression was dark with palms flat on the tabletop. His mouth was sloppily knit together by clenched teeth and his eyes were trained fiercely on his friend. He said nothing. Time seemed to move again because of his action and the other students shuffled into nervous laughs and needless deflections. 

“Sawada.” An ally in the sudden wave of discomfort sewed his relief to his voice like a patch to his sleeve. An unconscious stride to his desk was intercepted by Sawada closing the distance instead. A hand on his chest to stop him.

“Let’s talk.”

“Did you track the package?” Sora asked in surprise.

Caught off-guard, a slight softening. “What?--No--I mean yes-- I mean… out here.”

Just as Sawada took the lead in ushering Sora to the hallway, someone pivoted in this way.

“Asking for charity, Sawada?”

His face twisted. “What do you want Yoshida?” Pure venom.

Bemusement was already dripping from their classmate’s face. “Oh, just give me a cut of whatever deal comes down with you two.”

“A cut?” Sora echoed in confused distaste.

“Listen…” Sawada growled, but Yoshida wasn’t granting him that platform.

“ _Ya know_!” He rubbed his fingers together in a multi-universal gesture in Sora’s direction. “That money you threw at your entrance exams. You bought your place here, so you’re probably buying this nerd’s MMO subscription for some attention. I’d like a cut too!”

“What are you…” Sora trailed, trying to wrap his head around the nonsense.

“Let’s go, Sora…” Sawada attempted to push into Yoshida’s obstruction. He steeled his larger body.

“Class is about to start! You paying off Kobayashi-sensei to look the other way too?”

His conversation with Sawada the day before came to mind. Anon’s bribe. It was a dose of horror dropping like gravity in his stomach.

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sora couldn’t focus his gaze. This wasn’t possible. How? 

If there was a soul looking to ignore this squirmish they couldn’t resist now. Surprisingly, Yoshida’s perpetual air of nonchalant arrogance morphed into dark anger.

“Are you _really_ playing dumb?” Yoshida took a step forward. Sawada couldn’t help his reactionary inch back. There was a threat in his tone. It was mounting fast...

“Your pathetic innocent-foreigner act pisses me off!” Yoshida spat the words like a barking dog, but it was the echo of Inoue’s similar grievance that rang the loudest. For some reason, that made Sora follow in Sawada’s suit.

“You don’t even take the entrance exam, but trust-fund your ass into a _Todai_ feeder? You think that’s going to fly here?” His manner of speaking was slurring into something more thuggish. Lie. Lie.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking abou--”

“ _Bull_! The entire class knows there was a bribe. It’s probably going to get the top brass here in some trouble if it gets out to a reporter. Only a matter of time.” That proclamation sent the onlookers into a flurry of hush conversation. 

“This could be a massive scandal.”

“Will that affect our entrance exams?”

“I don’t want the feds getting involved…”

“Wonder what else a reporter could dig up on him…”

Sora could breathe. His chest constricted with a thick panic, the room turning into a tightrope. It was a vertigo-inducing drop below with no safety net. This wasn’t the place to freak out. He had to get a grip.

“Come on…” Sawada insisted to Sora who was petrified in the face of ridicule.

“What’s going on here?”

Sora and Yoshida, along with the observing student body, snapped their attention to their class rep, frozen in the doorway. Inoue had eyes wide as she quickly tried to assess if the posture before her resembled a fight, registering the rabble from the class. Her nostrils flared, but only after Sawada of all people found his motivating anger first.

“ _Come_ _on_ ,” Sawada growled and Sora’s wrist was shackled. With his clenched grip, Sawada pulled Sora past the distracted bully. There was a yelp from the newest arrival, her papers falling out of her hands.

“ _Wha t_ _?_ Let go! Class is starting!” Inoue protested as Sawada grabbed her as well. The two were dragged out the door, leaving behind a ruckus group of students and a simmering Yoshida. 

“What the actual hell Sawada!?” She spat as the door to the stairwell closed behind them while the school bell rattled across the building. She looked about as furious as she had a few days ago when she was convinced of his insanity. Sora rubbed his wrist in silence. It was Sawada who abruptly shattered that.

 _“How dare you!”_ Sawada roared at the girl, making her take a step back. She bristled in response.

“Woah, back off.” Lip curled. “What are you talking about?”

Sora’s eyes were fixed on her. Sawada said that Inoue was the one who discovered the donation on his confidential student file. She was the only one who knew about the apparent bribe.

 _“You know.”_

Inoue made a deliberate blink, composing herself atop a very visible frustration. She exhaled through her teeth in a short puff. “Look.” She started, voice lower as if to be more confidential. 

“If this has anything to do with our… _conversation_ Friday after school, I assure you I didn’t tell a soul about his…” She spared Sora a glance as if searching for the right word and the strangest thing registered. “...his _situation_.”

Did Inoue look concerned? A flicker of guilt softened her defensive expression like the sheathed claws of a cat. It was powerful because her blistering irritation lost it’s bite when she returned to Sawada. 

“How am I expected to believe that when the entire school is saying Sora’s in on some scandalous bribe? _You_ dug that up!”

Inoue's eyes were saucers. “You mean…”

“They’re after his head because of you!”

Inoue shook her head, confusion dripping off her face. “The class knows?” Disbelief.

“Stop playing dumb.”

“No… I didn’t tell anyone… I swear.”

“Yeah right, then wh--”

“I believe her.”

Sawada’s anger was stifled as though his voice was stolen from the thin air. “What?” He turned to Sora who was looking intensely at the girl. Inoue shivered at his level gaze. 

His friend seemed more conflicted than anyone in the stairwell. He choked on the confusion. “Sora…she said those awful things to you… she thinks you’re…”

Inoue avoided Sora’s faith-filled stare. Sora heaved a sigh. If there was one thing he could cling to in this very sudden onslaught of revelations, it was that she was being honest. The conviction was a swell of strength from his chest.

“ _‘Crazy’_. I know.” Saying it himself felt like he was taking ownership of the toxic word. “But, the rumor damages the school too, right? She cares a lot about that. Why would she hurt it?”

The defense from him was a baffling turn of events. Inoue knocked around the ball of guilt in her chest. It jumbled her thoughts and threw her off any semblance of cool-headed balance she projected. She was almost shaking with the swelling bubble of regret. His kindness. His tragedy.

A phone-tinted voice echoed in her memory.

The words left her mouth in nausea. _“I’m sorry.”_ Hands clasped together, her ponytail whipped forward in a very sudden bow.

That froze Sawada well and good. Sora looked vulnerable as well. She hesitated, lifting slightly from her bow. “I-I’m sorry.” She repeated with more urgency.

The apology stammered out of her quickly. “I was wrong… What I said before. I… I was frustrated and didn’t consider all the possibilities... it was uncalled for.”

‘All the possibilities…?’ Sawada was confused. Sora keyed into the spirit of her words. His blue eyes were shimmering with sympathy. Touched, relieved, a little conflicted. Peaking a glance was a bad idea and she displayed her shame deeper again.

“Please forgive me, Kakehashi-kun.” She pleaded.

There was a hand on her shoulder. “Please lift your head.” His voice was gentle. A little more than shocked, she obeyed, rising to find herself at his arm's length.

“Thank you Inoue-san. Your apology means a lot!” Sora said with a smile that broke her heart. He had no idea.

An exasperated groan from Sawada broke the moment. “Don’t think this puts you in the clear. Sora’s forgiving by nature.”

She stiffened as Sora broke away from their moment. He seemed a lot more comfortable now and only smiled at Sawada’s familiar observation.

“But if you swear you didn’t leak this. Then who did?”

The mystery sobered the entire ensemble. “I don’t know-- a teacher?”

“To the student body?” Sawada’s skepticism was biting.

“Maybe someone also checked my file like Inoue-san.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only student in the history of the school who's been trusted with a teacher’s log-in.”

Talk about self-incriminating. Sawada narrowed his gaze at her. She was at Sora’s good graces.

“Look.” Inoue began, straightening with some kind of inspired purpose. “This rumor is bad for the entire school… I’ll take responsibility for figuring out its source.”

The boys looked at her in surprise. She held her chin up. “Consider it an act of atonement.” 

Sora’s heart sang at this olive branch. He nodded with a restrained smile. “It’s a deal.”

On their way back to class, Sawada stopped the class rep. She was paranoid of witnesses as her truancy crept deeper into her consciousness. Superficial. She was a renowned suck-up-- a teacher's pet interested in her own success. 

“Why the different tone?” His hostility was a low threat. “You still don’t believe him.”

Inoue spared Sora’s back another look, her eyes oozing with that strange pity. It didn’t look right on such a hardened girl. It spiked his own brand of paranoia. Was she acting? Sawada only hoped it was for the right reasons.

“Of course I don’t believe him.” Despite her biting words, her voice seemed exasperated.

His teeth clenched instinctively but he kept his voice even. “What’s your goal then?” 

She balked in the offense. Disgusted. “Can you for a moment, consider that maybe I realized I was too harsh? That I’m actually sorry? Not everything is a conspiracy Sawada.” Her emotions were met with the boy’s own distaste, brewing in a pause between them.

“He may trust you, but I’ve got no reason to.”

She adjusted her hair as a deflection. “And I’m okay with this… but if I had to say, it’s his trust in you that’s misplaced. What you’re doing is crueler than any insult I’ve ever thrown at him."

Sawada’s nostrils flared defensively. “ _I believe him_.”

Inoue was unmoved by his passionate confession. She narrowed her expression, leaning forward, suppressing the superior air she was addicted to.

“But _why_?”

His face was far more crazed than he’d ever allow. She watched the question completely register into the context with the slight slacking of his coiled posture. Proof. What was his proof? His reason? The facts. She demanded them.

Doubt.

Suddenly he groaned his furious exhale. He was at his limit. “Just… stay away from him.” He charged ahead to the classroom, ready to face whatever punishment his tardiness produced than stand a moment longer in front of this infuriating classmate.

If there was a threat in his words, it dissipated on contact.

* * *

_ >I don’t know what to do< _

The message was sent an hour ago. Sora peaked at the screen from under his desk for the _nth_ time that day. He felt the stares bore into him like drills. He found himself pleading for a response until even his mental voice grew hoarse.

“ _Kakehashi_?”

Eyes.

His body reacted before his mind. Twisting tight and vulnerable, flirting with a sick sensation in his gut. He assessed the situation from his desk, the attention unwelcome.

“Kakehashi. Sorry to distract you from your daydreaming.” The math teacher had a heavy layer of sarcasm in his voice. “Please solve for 'x'.”

Sora swallowed and stammered his sight to the foreign collection of symbols on the board. The numbers were anchors of understanding but their formation was nonsensical. Did he learn this at school on the islands? The attempt at recalling any semblance of a lesson from his past resulted in a stark white blank. He didn’t know what to do. He heard giggling.

The ambient noises of the room dominated his headspace, hypersensitive to the shifting bodies of his classmates sharing silent and muted exchanges. What was he going to do?

“I don’t know,” He felt his mouth say. 

“I’m sorry, come again?” Another twist of the knife. There were murmurs. Sora couldn’t raise his head any longer.

“I don’t know the answer, sir.” A little louder.

_“That’s our trust-fund kid.”_

_“It’s not even that hard!”_

_“Can one kid tank our national ranking?”_

Sora didn’t see the teacher’s face, but his tone suggested a lack of surprise.

“You arrive late and let yourself get distracted in class too…Kakehashi, please see me after school.” This was startling enough to capture Sora’s skittish attention, dumbfounded. He was in trouble? The chorus of reaction made his ears burn. It affirmed their bias. It fueled and focused the consensus. They were enjoying every second.

And all Sora wanted to do was hide. 

The teacher addressed the class more broadly. “It’s imperative that everyone takes their studies seriously. Now, Ayame-- please solve for ' _x'_.”

* * *

“This is a damn near _mess_.” Sawada half grunted, half groaned. He was in his PE uniform, struggling with an awkwardly sized bucket overflowing with sports equipment. 

“You’re telling me.” Sora responded a little half-heartedly. He had his own haul but took advantage of his better grip to look ahead for fellow students on the same path from the fields. Kobayashi-sensei chastised their tardiness with a menial, after-school task and thus they were consumed with hauling out-of-season equipment from the field shed to the clubrooms. 

“What did Ushido-sensei want?”

“To lecture me.” 

“ _Gah_ , the new student grace-period is definitely over for you.”

Sora couldn’t help but agree. He missed the brief moment where people were superficially happy for his novel presence. Would things have been better if he hadn’t screwed that up?

It had just been so hard. They didn’t look at him right. He didn’t fit. He didn’t belong. Before, he had been a citizen of the worlds-- slipping into the fabric of reality and leaving with more in his heart than when he arrived. The horizons were benchmarks. The sky was another rung in the ladder. But he felt this reality cling to him like heavy dirt. Every breath drained him little by little. 

Why did they look at him like that? They wanted to blame him. They wanted to hate him.

“Hey, Sawada…” Sora began, tasting the question on his lips distantly as they closed in on the clubroom building. “Is everyone… like that?”

Was this just how it was in this world?

His friend regarded his question quizzically. Hesitation, until he found the sympathy to understand his implications. The jeers and stares from his classmates were haunting Sora and his sullen eyes were the window to that truth. So much light smothered behind protective shutters. He wanted hope. Sawada struggled to find the right answer.

Yet it also struck him how surreal the moment was. This character, woven tight to his heart, his guide-- looking to him. Pressure. A desperate need to cling to this miracle. What to say?

Sawada had admired Sora for ages. Ever since he was little. Life sucked, but if he smiled like Sora. If he moved forward like Sora. If he stayed true like Sora...maybe things could change. But…

The scenes from the morning played out like a sick encore. A parallel. A reminder. A conclusion.

It was impossible to be Sora here.

“I don’t know.” _I hope not._

They walked in silence, digesting the uncertainties of the world. Until Sora put a hand out onto Sawada’s bulky, sight-obstructing bucket, bringing him to a halt. The walkway was narrow because of Soroku’s location in the heart of the city. Too narrow for the oncoming foot traffic Sora spotted, so the pair awkwardly paused and crowded the walkway edges for them. 

“Hey is that stuff from the field shed?” The leading student passing them asked. He too was dressed in his PE uniform, most likely involved in a sports club. Behind him flanked two other teammates. 

Sora nodded his affirmation. The student seemed amused but friendly enough. “You must be in Kobayashi-sensei's homeroom, only she’d hand this job out to some first years.”

“We’re taking them to the clubrooms.” Sora offered. For some reason, he felt his gut twist at the sudden interaction. He was nervous. Talking to a stranger made him nervous. Him. Had his trust waned that much? 

Did this guy know the rumor? 

Did he know who he was? 

Why was he talking to him?

“Good timing. We were actually looking to grab our rackets, we’re a part of the tennis club. Would you like a hand?”

The words had a remarkable temperature. Practically physical. Sora felt the smile on his mouth. “Sure.” He set down his load which invited Sawada to do the same. 

“You should grab the bats Takashi.” The leading student ordered while fishing out a couple of duffle bags from Sora’s container. Takashi was the youngest looking student of the trio, a first-year with a sporty buzz cut. He didn’t move immediately.

Nor did Sawada.

There was a beat of silence. Confusion swept over all parties as it registered that Takashi and Sawada were staring at each other. Intensely. Distress oozed from their forms.

“A-actually, I just remembered I f-forgot something.” Takashi stammered breaking the unsure moment with undeniable discomfort, and he turned on his heels toward the school building.

“What? Wait, Takashi!” His teammate called after, but the first year waved him off before disappearing into the building.

“I’m sorry, Takashi isn’t normally like that.” He gestured to the other teammate to take his place in the assisting process. But Sora’s attention was elsewhere.

“Sawada?” He asked, his friend staring off into space with a grim expression. His probing question seemed to snap him out of it.

“Hm?” A slight head shake, blinking the concerning reaction into the past. “I’m fine.” Smile. “Let’s finish this up.”

When they had finished the chore, wished the kind helpers farewell and changed out of their PE uniforms, Sora had to ask. “Did you know that guy?” The commute was filled with late afternoon colors. Comfortable.

Sawada took a long time to respond but held his poker face well. “Yeah. We were friends.”

_Were_.

Sora brewed over the implications. The reaction between the two of them. The concern was too much and the question bubbled into his mouth--

“--I never told you the results of my research last night.”

Sora swallowed, a little more than dumbfounded by the shutdown.

“I tried tracing the serial number on the Dualshock controller in this inventory record database… and like I suspected, it apparently predates the database. I could only find the last 2 or 3 rounds of production records for the Playstation 2. No evidence of resale either.”

Translation-- nothing new. 

“But, those records made me curious about something else…” 

He pulled out his phone and brought out the picture of the Dualshock’s serial number tucked out of sight. “The serial numbers for the Playstation 2 were based on ‘seasons’ of mass production…”

Sawada proceeded to point to the group of numbers, section by section, translating their role in the production line. “...finally ending on the unit ID.”

He was trying to lead his thought process, but Sora’s patient, but raised brow of confusion invalidated that effort. “This controller that was sent to you…” Sawada shook the pictured device on his phone for emphasis. “It’s from the first round of production. Probably within the first 100 units sold.”

Sora still wasn’t sure what that exactly meant. He was still impressed with Sawada’s detective skills. “That’s amazing.”

“While there aren’t any names, it tells us a good deal about the sender. This kind of launch day buy means they are older or have connections to an older, gaming fanatic. We can poke around the school for people who have that profile. It’s not a lot, but considering we really only have to worry about the school, this could be the break we need.”

Sora nodded. “What are we going to do when we find this person?”

Sawada tucked his phone away, the dark expression returning once again.

“We’ll set the record straight for one. Make sure they keep the secret... we don’t want this morning’s situation to get any worse.”

Sora could read the implications on Sawada’s suddenly simmering angry heart. “It wasn’t Inoue-san.”

He hissed. “You’re too trusting.” 

“I don’t believe she did it.” After what she said. After all the evidence against her...

Sora had faith. Was it willful blindness? Was he that desperate for another connecting heart?

He remembered Takashi’s petrified, guilty face. Had Sawada himself been that desperate? He considered Sora for a moment. Was he _still_ that desperate?

“Is there a chance, the sender also leaked that information from my file?” 

The thought sent a chill down Sawada’s spine. A mysterious figure not only threatening but actively using that knowledge against Sora. It wouldn’t be a large leap of logic, but the information being leveraged wasn’t the same. It wasn’t conclusive. 

“It’s a possibility.” He couldn’t hide how intimidated that made him feel.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing Inoue-san is on the case.” 

His friend grumbled in defeat. 

* * *

_ <I’m so sorry Little King> _

Sora’s phone pinged while unlocking his apartment door. It shocked him so bad he almost forgot how to turn the key. He scrambled inside to see the message continue.

_ <This isn’t good at all…Who do you think told the school?> _

Better late, than never. The relief and comfort from this friend's check-in was palpable.

_ >Sawada thinks Inoue did because she’s the only other one who saw my file… but it can’t be that simple.< _

Sora finished setting his things down and grabbed at his tie.

_ <What makes you so sure?> _

Why was everyone here so insistent on his reason? Could he not trust a person based on his gut feeling? Nevertheless, Sora re-evaluated his actions. It was true Inoue was not a benevolent force in the tremulous conversation they had after she and Sawada tailed him. In fact, the tone of her voice today was enough to remind him of how she so venomously denied his identity.

So maybe it was her face. She had been angry and cruel to him… but even through his own pain, there was suspicious desperation coming from her like a radiating heat. Fear. She no doubt thought he was a basket-case, but it wasn’t a label born from her confident logic. At least, that was his assumption. And perhaps it was that unfathomable sensation that she rejected that Sora so curiously invited in. 

So he let her in. Her apology was confirmation that he was right to do so. 

_ >I just am< _

_ <I expected nothing less from you. :) > _

Sora frowned. He couldn’t parse through the thrill that line gave him. He assumed it was happiness from the flattery. It gave him the clarity to reassert his position on the matter. 

_ >I’m honestly not that interested in finding out who leaked it though.< _

_ >I’m most concerned with… how angry the rumor made everyone.< _

Leaving the classroom today had been like rising to the surface for air. The thought of plunging back in tomorrow sent his body into protests. 

_ >I just don’t understand why they hate me so much.< _

It took a second for Anon to respond so Sora began rooting through his fridge. 

_ <I’m sorry> _

_ <I never wanted my actions to hurt you.> _

That gave him pause, his hand resting on a refrigerated package he planned to heat up for dinner. The food that was stocked so generously in his fridge. He was consoling his regrets when Anon continued. 

_ <They are mad because to them, you cheated the system. Soroku isn’t easy to get into. I want to think that it’ll blow over, but you’re also an outsider. It’s just hard for them.> _

Cheated, huh. The Power of Waking functioned liked that too. Defying destiny. Cheating death. He got everything he wanted for a feasible price. 

_ <If repairing your place in class is most important to you. You’ll want to do your best to lay low for a while. They’ll come around to you eventually.> _

Out of all the advice Anon’s given, that was probably the most disappointing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All that serial number stuff is bull... but not like... entirely. There are records for serial numbers and there are databases on them but it's not exactly as commercially available for a layman. And I don't know the entire logic behind the number sequence and assume that it's different for the product producer. 
> 
> Inoue didn't get punished cause she's got a get-out-of-jail-free card as classrep. Japanese schools and workplaces don't always follow the 2-day in-a-row weekend sequence, but I'm not that smart so Chapter 9 was a Friday, this chapter is a Monday after a couple chapters of weekend friendship. 
> 
> I appreciate the tolerance of OCs-- I'm sooo critical of OC's when I'm reading so it means a lot that there's been a welcome for them. They aren't these beloved creations of mine that I've slipped in my story. They are tools to the narrative and its themes. And while they are meant to move the plot, I do appreciate anyone who is making the effort to understand and sympathize with them. Their story is a part of Sora's ultimately and they can be used as a lens for the reader. 
> 
> We live in uncertain times friends. Sora's feeling a little similar. We'll get through it.


	17. Pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written so fast! Hahh! As long as I'm free, I'll write and post. No stock-piling chapters. Time is moving too slow for that.

Going to school was a warzone. It was the only comparison… and Sora had been on the battlefield before. Except in this case, the strategic dodges and well-timed reflect spells consisted of slipping from judgemental gazes and changing the school commute to avoid certain cliques of meandering gossipers. The hostility had heightened, no longer limited to the confines of his classroom walls. It was like day one all over again with none of the exuberant curiosity. 

_‘Lay low. They’ll come around to you eventually.’_

The words from Anon’s message tightened the seal to the internal bunker he was hauling around inside himself. It left a bad taste in his mouth but he couldn’t deny that it was the logical choice in this matter. Because the battle started at the shoe locker. 

Sora’s hand lingered on the small door, putting his weight on the latch while he released his lungful of air to steady himself. 

His shoes were gone. 

“Excuse me,” A girl from his class said curtly. 

“Oh, sorry.” He stepped back, letting her get to her shoe locker. She made quick work, swapping them out and stuffing her personal pair in place. This custom wasn’t completely foreign to him. It seemed instinctually polite, but Anon had given a poetic explanation when he questioned the logic.

Regardless of status or authority. Everyone took off their shoes. It’s an ‘equalizer’.

The traffic moved about him. Ogling him. Annoyed by his obstruction. Murmuring something they knew that he didn’t. He clenched his fist in response to the numbing sense of embarrassment. 

His feet were going to drag whether or not he was wearing the school-issued indoor slippers.

* * *

Inoue intercepted him before he reached the classroom. She pulled him away from the door.

“You might want to wait until the last minute to walk in.”

Sora sighed, his mood muddled with the sensation of a wet blanket sticking to his skin. “Figures.”

At his bitter acceptance, she gave a once-over, finally landing on his borrowed shoes. “Jeez…” A sigh of her own. Her fingers shot to her temples as if to nurse a sudden pressure headache. “I can’t believe those guys.”

“It’s not a big deal.” It wasn’t. It was annoying. A little more than embarrassing. Mildly inconvenient. Demeaning. She simmered in silence at his dismissal, it wasn’t worth the argument. Exasperated, she forced her composure.

“I guess it goes without saying that the entire school knows the rumor?”

A curt nod. “Yeah, pretty obvious.”

“It didn’t take me long to figure out that it originated from someone in our class.”

“Was it Yoshida?”

“Predictable, but apparently so.”

Sora crossed his arms as an outlet for his irritation. The pressure was comforting. “He’s been out to get me since day one.”

Inoue mirrored his posture for a different, more defiant reason. “But it doesn’t change the fact that his information is accurate. I’m making it my mission today to figure out where Yoshida got the intel and what proof he’s actually posing. Do you think we could meet after school somewhere? I’ll be honest, I’m kind of paranoid here.”

“Huh?” Her words cut through the fog surrounding him like a ray of sunshine. Sora blinked a few times as the uncontrollable tickle of happiness crept on him. She wanted to… meet with him? She wanted to spend time with him. His heart was fidgety. “Y-yeah! Sure. Uh, I mean… I’ve got just the place.” By the time he finished, he was grinning. 

Inoue was a little baffled at his sudden joy, but it was contagious and she felt her lip curl at the dorky blush on his cheeks. She skirted her urge to laugh at the sight with pragmatic information.

“Well… uh, let me give you my number. We have to wait till after my student council meeting.”

Sora nodded fiercely. Glowing. This was enough to keep him going for the rest of the day.

* * *

Which couldn’t last long.

 _“Of course it was Yoshida_.” Sawada sat at Sora’s desk, downing a store-bought sandwich between words. “He’s got like… this alpha male complex. You should have seen him when you first got here and everyone was bothering you. He was foaming at the mouth ‘cause people weren’t paying him any mind.”

“I could tell.” It wasn’t a brand of jealousy Sora was used to. Riku admitted his jealousy to Sora before but it was nothing close to the petty display this character wore on his sleeve. “Is there a reason why the cheating thing got to him specifically?”

Sawada made a face and waved it off. “No, it’s not like he’s a top student or anything. He’s just exploiting what he sees as a weakness in a rival.”

“Rival?” Sora let himself fein mock flattery at the title. Sawada had to cover his food-filled mouth during his laugh. It was during this exchange that activity at the door to the classroom stole Sora from the moment. 

Some kids from another class hovered at the door talking amongst each other, distracting some of the surrounding lunch conversations. When Sawada followed his friend’s line of sight he froze.

Fist clenched, Takashi steeled himself and walked into the room making a bee-line toward them. His mouth was a hard line, his eyes were projecting some kind of anger. Sawada set his sandwich down and pulled his posture back away from Sora’s desk in anticipation of his arrival. The former friend stopped just short a meter away.

“Can we talk?” Takashi’s friends hovered slightly behind him for support. 

The question caught Sawada off guard despite the clear mental preparation. His body was coiled, tense and uncomfortable while his voice was a mix of uncertain and cold. “...what’s there to talk about?”

Takashi appeared as though hit by the rejecting response. As though offended. Not that Sawada would notice. He was fixed on a distant point on the ground, intently focused.

Takashi’s trembling stare fell on Sora for a brief moment before squaring back to his former friend with determination.

“I’m _not_ jealous.”

Sawada was confused, like he was missing a part of the conversation, but did his best not to show it. “I never said you were…” As the seconds clicked, Sawada grew more and more on-edge. Takashi mere presence was destabilizer. 

The soft-spoken boy was suddenly a little more impassioned. Defensive and resolute.“We promised to leave things where they were, Shoto. I spoke my piece at graduation.”

A trigger. _“Spoke?”_ Sawada's volume pitched dramatically. He barked a strained and sarcastic laugh. “You barely said a thing! You gave me a half-ass excuse out of nowhere and just cut me out of your life.” The entire room was watching the scene unfold with morbid curiosity. Chairs turned, ambient noise dulled. Sawada was shaking, red-faced, glassy eyes. The counterpoint seemed to open the floodgates. Sora watched helplessly as Sawada was overwhelmed by the momentum.

“Do you understand what that put me through? I didn’t have a clue!” His voice broke as he rose from his seat to twist his words into the wide-eyed Takashi. There was a wash of discomfort with the spectators while Sawada seemed lost in the moment.

“H-How long did you plan to just lead me on like that? How long were you talking about me behind my back? What did I do to deserve that?”

Sora’s jaw was slack. Takashi seemed to bubble in his own red-faced frustration. What appeared to be a very mild-mannered student was now reaching the tipping point.

“You still haven’t changed!” His exclamations were much more muted, but the emotion seeped through nonetheless. “You’re ignorant of everything going on around you! If you paid any attention you would have seen it coming. But you can only think about… about your stupid _obsessions_.”

His eyes were brimming when he locked onto Sora once again. Recognition was in his eyes. Disgust. Anger. His words were directed at Sawada. “ _And you’re_ still _obsessed._ ”

Takashi recoiled from his own snarling bite, overwhelmed. His hand found a nearby chair and he gave it a rough shake into the surrounding desks, enough to make a flinch-inducing clattering sound but not enough to really move anything. 

“I don’t want to hear from you again. Please.” He said his own voice strained. Takashi backed up to meet his hovering friends at the front of the room, who then escorted him out. 

“Sawada?” Sora probed.

His friend was frozen, staring at the spot his old friend stood. His breathing was shallow and he paid Sora no mind.

“I…” He croaked, not completely blind to the audience. “I’m going to get some air.”

“Sawada!” Sora stood up to follow as he broke through the rows to reach the door.

“I’m fine.” Sawada waved behind him while rushing out of the room. It stopped Sora in his tracks. He stood in his wake, grappling with the stripes of pain aching from his chest. It felt like a bleeding wound, a series of gashes he didn’t understand. The confusion made it all the worse but it was the helplessness anchoring Sora like a vat of consuming quicksand. 

* * *

The cafe was alive with the lunch rush. Patrons took advantage of the setting to click away on their laptops or converse with business partners on the phone. Clattering came from the kitchen. Names were called from the barista. Rags sloshed on used dining tables. A cell phone screen illuminated the dim, but cozy atmosphere. It was a message screen, filled with a single, large bubble of text.

_It seems you still can’t say a word to me Takashi. Are you jealous that you’ve been replaced already? I wonder what your teammates would think of such a coward._

_-Shoto_

A smile.

The phone slipped out of sight, preparing for the long stay in the cafe. Nevertheless, they cherished the success. This was enough to keep them going for the rest of the day.

* * *

“Thanks for waiting,” Inoue said looking around Tully’s with a clinical eye. Sora gave a soft smile at her presence a little more than lost in thought. 

Sawada skipped school after lunch. Sora sent a few messages to check in but there was no response. Instead, he shot the breeze with Anon who showed as much concern and wisdom as he expected. 

_He needs some space._

_There’s nothing you can do right now_

_Just wait._

“I heard what happened at lunch today.” Was his face that obvious? They took a seat by the booths where the ambient light from the windows had less reach.

“Already?”

“It shouldn’t surprise you now that Soroku kids like to talk. It was a pretty personal outburst from the sound of it.”

For some reason, her more detached discussion of the matter made it easier to think. “I'm not entirely sure what it was about.” He admitted.

Inoue fiddled with her plain nails for a moment in consideration. “Yamamoto-kun went to the same middle school as Sawada. I wasn’t in their class, but I saw them together a lot.”

“He said, he just… left him. No reason… How can someone do that to a friend?”

“Relationships are messy,” Inoue offered. “Sometimes, friendships just fall apart…”

And you’re supposed to just… leave it like that? Anger swelled within Sora. He could practically feel the injustice catch in his throat. That was a _bond_. Those didn’t just go away. He knew that. He proved that. He relied on that. He clamped the frustration down with his teeth. This world’s twisted logic was too much. 

“Pardon me.” A voice stole Sora from his thoughts. It was that same, clear, nostalgic, sweet tone. He felt the chill in his spine send his shoulders back instantaneously. He turned to the speaker.

“Sorry to bother you, but you are ‘Sora’ right?”

It was the waitress from the other day. The one who helped him clean up his coffee mess. Pitch black hair. A neat bun. Brown, slightly bloodshot eyes.

“Yeah.” He didn’t understand how she knew his name. She was mild-mannered, maybe a little shy with his clear confusion directed toward her.

“The barista called your order…” 

“Oh.” He brushed off his embarrassment with a full-faced grin. “I was distracted. Thank you…” He trailed, looking for some kind of identification on the now twice kind employee. 

She looked surprised at his implication, the red trim within her eyes more noticeable with her expression. “Oh _um_ … Satou…” She gave a little nervous bow.

“Thank you Satou-san,” Sora completed. He was smiling politely, while she righted herself to be excused. But that’s when the question popped in his head with enough trill of concern to leap from his lips. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

“Kakehashi-kun!” Inoue scolded in her own brand of surprise. Did he say that out loud?

Before Sora could even be embarrassed by his out of place and frankly rude question, Satou was responding.

“No, it’s okay.” She consoled, her face red to the point that she was shielding it ever so slightly. “I-I wear contact lenses… My allergies have been poor. Please forgive my appearance.”

Another bow and she excused herself quickly.

 _"That_ was rude of you.” Inoue appeared exuberantly horrified. “That poor girl is probably feeling extremely self-conscious right now!”

“I’m sorry,” Sora whined. What a stupid impulse, he wanted to ask her what was _wrong_ …

“ _Gah!_ Just _go_. Go get our drinks.” Inoue shooed him away flippantly.

Moments later, Sora appeared with two plastic cups of tea.

“You got the same thing.” She observed. Sora shrugged with a sheepish dismissal while placing his own identical drink down. 

“I’m working on trying new things.”

Inoue readjusted herself into place, sipping at the milky beverage. She expected an awkward air between them but was surprised at the ease.

“Yoshida fessed up about his source.” She began, eyeing his reaction. A slight raise of his brow. Sora wasn’t nearly as invested as she thought he’d be. Curious indeed.

“Who is it?”

“That’s the crappy part. He doesn’t know.” She ran her fingers along the blanket of condensation. “It was a tip. He received a message the night before from a number he didn’t recognize that stated you were admitted into the school without merit on a hefty direct donation.”

A message… “And he just believed that?” Sora had reserved his feelings about Yoshida to this moment of truth.

“You’d think,” She took another sip. “As petty as our boy Yoshida is about you, even he knows talk is cheap.”

Why did that make him feel worse? “There was proof.” His stomach started twisting. This tea was a little too sweet right now.

She was resting her forearms on the table, smashing her mouth tight. She nodded. “A check.”

The actual transaction. That pointed a very small number of fingers. He felt his breath cut shallow. This wasn’t an accident or a slip of the tongue. This was a conspiracy against him. 

“He didn’t show me it, but he said the sender sent him a picture of the check, memo clear as day.”

He felt like the answer was in her words, but he couldn’t connect the dots. “So it’s someone who could have had access to that check?”

A nod. “Yeah, but I’m not sure of Principal Nishikawa’s check keeping habits… that might impact the suspect pool, but they are most likely high up on the chain.”

“But why? Does that mean an adult leaked it to a student?”

Inoue shrugged. It was clear this revelation was something she was grappling within her own lane of concerns. “It could have been someone who disapproved of the practice, but that doesn’t explain why it went through the student body. This is the kind of stuff you take to a reporter.”

A thought stopped her, mouth hanging for a moment too long.

“What?”

“Who’s to say any one of the students didn’t contact a reporter already?” She groaned at the realization. “This is going to tarnish the school’s reputation.”

A part of Sora wanted to say how that was just the way the justice worked. School’s shouldn’t take bribes. Unfortunately, he was heavily involved and his own hide depended on this as well.

“Do they really report on stuff like that?” 

“Certain tabloids sure, though without Yoshida’s proof, even a low-end journalist might take a sec to publish something… We have time.”

A hesitant sigh of relief. “Okay. Time to fix the rumor?”

Inoue paused full stop. “Fix? Kakehashi-kun. The rumor is _true_ . You _are_ in on a bribe. Unless we can simply prevent all avenues of truth from getting out, there’s no containing this.”

...What? Sora couldn’t help his expression from morphing into something gobsmacked and wild. He couldn’t find the words. 

“Then what was the point of investigating it?!” He lost control of his tone of voice, a slight crack snapping through the exasperation. There was a person out there intentionally lording his secrets over him and they were going to succeed in mortifying him across the entire world.

And what if...

The controller came to mind. What if they were the same person? What if they knew more than just a little cover story scandal?

“Hey, calm down!” She was furtively glancing around the cafe where patrons passing by their table found their attention linger too long. “I’m not saying it’s impossible…”

Deep breath. “What do I do?” A common question on his mind. If Anon couldn’t answer then maybe other voices could actually help. Inoue took a long moment to regard his request. Nervously, Sora downed more than half of the sickeningly sweet milk-tea. Something in Inoue’s demeanor changed then. Less business, more reflective. 

“There’s no getting rid of the truth… but you could add more context to it. Lessen the personal damage.”

“You mean…” Sora narrowed his eyes at her suggestion, uncertain.

“I mean ‘what’s the story?’” She finished. Then. A slight hesitation. “A kid doesn’t transfer in the middle of the year with a massive donation for no reason.”

That reflective tone of hers turned a corner into pure tension. She had been _wanting_ to ask this question.

“What happened, Kakehashi-kun?”

Twelve black keys, forged from a clash encircling a Master driven to the darkness. He summoned her amidst tearful, furious pleading. She shattered before his eyes.

The ancient blade rotating in the Master’s hands as he called upon that unfathomable entity to steal his light. His body enveloping in rage and black anger as the desperation moved him toward that revenge.

Floating in the void. Gone.

Smiling for all the wrong reasons at his friends. It’d be the last they spoke to him.

“Uhh…” He wasn’t able to form words. Distress coming off him, from the memories, from the demand. “I… uh… um…” He sounded physically pained. He already knew he couldn’t use his cover story. He wasn’t some foreign kid from Hawaii, transferred because of some fictional father’s new job. She had seen his tears that day. She had passed her judgment.

Unlike before, Inoue’s response was not one of surprise or disgust. 

“Kakehashi-kun.” She said evenly. Her hands were clasped in front of her, almost clinically. Sora was silently pleading. “I know what you _want_ to say.”

Why did he transfer? Why was there a bribe? **_He didn’t exist here._ **He didn’t belong. He was a video game character. She _knew_ that was his angle already. How was that going to help? This would be his end. 

What did she want from him? What was the truth? 

“I… woke up on the street.” He said slowly. That was true. That happened. He couldn’t forget.

She nodded.

“Why were you on the street?”

“I don’t know.” It was just where he appeared. How strange it must have been for the witnesses… wait.

“There was no one around.”

Inoue furrowed her brow. But she waited.

“I… couldn’t read the signs.”

“You couldn’t read?”

The night was vivid in his mind but those first few moments were the haziest. The foreboding posture of the city. The pictures, the symbols… nothing was right. 

“It’s like I woke up… from a very… _very_ long sleep.” Her eyes brightened with recognition. 

“Why were you sleeping?” 

Why?... _Why?_

The Power of… 

When did he first fall asleep…?

And then his head exploded.

A blistering sharp shock of pain rippled through his head. His composure toppled. There was no air to breathe. Like a physical knife plowed into his temples and tremors of lightning pulsed along his skull.

“ _AGHH_ _!”_ He cried, grabbing at his head. The entire establishment was brought into their own alarm. Inoue jumped to her feet. 

The shock gripped his brain with claws. It was hot and prickly, like needles. Tiny, unreachable, unstoppable needles. He felt his fingers twist his hair, threatening to pry each strand clean off. It hurt It h u r t _ithurt_

“Kakehashi-kun?!”

His head was throbbing, like a heartbeat. A sledgehammer. He moaned.

“Is he okay?” Asked a nearby patron. Inoue didn’t know how to respond. She was shaking. 

“Does he need a doctor?”

“I-I don’t know.” She stammered, overwhelmed by the questions and Sora’s cradling agony. 

There was a sudden gasp of air. Sora had forgotten to breathe and just as suddenly remembered. The oxygen helped immensely. Like a downpour washing through a forest fire, the fog of pain broke. The electricity firing in his head was finally dissipating. 

He pried a hand out of his hair and waved away the most alarming options. “‘S’okay.” He slurred between the refreshing inhales. 

“Kakehashi-kun?” Inoue was hysterical. Beside her were some patrons and employees, lying in wait.

Sora ran his hands slowly down his face, the pain was only a vivid memory now. He dragged a slight layer of tears and perspiration in the process. He blinked his blurry vision into focus. 

“Are you okay?” Inoue asked after a long observing silence.

Sora nodded, frazzled. “Yeah… my head started hurting.” Understatement. Many of the onlookers were dissipating in their own right, satisfied with his safety. The employees lingered the longest.

“That didn’t seem like a normal headache.” Dripping in anxiety. 

“It’s gone though,” Sora said gratefully.

“Does he need anything?” Satou interjected. She seemed just as alarmed and hovered off the side of the booth.

“Water please,” Inoue said and the waitress was off.

Sora eyed the girl with a tired smile. “You are so much nicer than you let on.” Inoue jerked upright.

“O-Of course I’m ‘nice’-- you just had some kind of episode!” She was stammering, scandalized.

Sora’s head felt kind of loose in the wake of the subsiding pain. It welcomed the comfort of positive emotions, like a balm. “You’re a good friend.”

That seemed to steal the girl’s defensive vigor. She sighed, falling back against the cushioned booth. 

“It’s really corny to say stuff like that.” She lacked the attitude and superiority the line might suggest. No, she was disappointed. 

Satou returned with a bottle of water, dripping in the condensation. After setting it down she continued to linger.

“The staff here at Tully’s would like to express our concern.” She spoke formally. “Please let us know if you need anything else.” Sora gave her a nod.

“I’m sorry for the disruption. We’ll be leaving soon.”

The waitress, postured in polite service, lost her composure with that announcement. Jolted by a sudden recollection, she struggled with the choice to bring it up.

“Wait… uh… you two wouldn’t happen to be Soroku High students would you?”

Inoue raised a brow. “Yes…?”

Satou gave a nervous smile deflecting the natural hostility Inoue seemed to have. She reached into her uniform apron. “Earlier today, there was another student from Soroku... He was meeting with one of our regulars, a female reporter… he left this at his table.”

She presented a plastic ID badge with a dangling blue lanyard. The school emblem was printed on the corner with a bored-faced teenager’s picture staring out of the small rectangle. 

“Yuuta Kimura.” Inoue read, there was dread in her voice. She took the badge mindlessly.

“Who’s that?” Sora asked.

“You said he was with a reporter?” Inoue pressed. Satou nodded vigorously.

“She often meets here for clients. I thought you might be able to return that to the student…”

“Not good.” She groaned.

“What? Why?” Paranoia simmered back into the forefront.

Inoue rubbed her temples together. “Kimura is on the school paper and he’s pretty chummy Yoshida too. If he’s meeting with a reporter he’s most definitely leaking the rumor.”

Fear. The classroom’s oppressive walls expanding a toxic reach around the school, the city, everywhere. The stares. Nothing was safe. 

“You know how I said there was time to get ahead of this? Yeah, _scratch that.”_

 _-_ X... Continue-

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you are thinking of this mystery. I'm curious about theories. This was a blast to write, it helps that Inoue's got a fun voice. She challenges Sora. Your comments make this sooo worthwhile. Thank you for reading!


	18. Fragmented

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, no promises but writing has been a blast so I'm just cruising along. I hope you enjoy.

When the ‘Open’ sign went dark, the employees of Tully’s cafe gave a sigh of relief. The kitchen ignited into bustling noise, with eager barista’s and cooks squeegeeing the floors and furiously washing dishes. The music was disconnected, the machines were bubbling a dose of sanitizing solution, brooms scratched tiles, noisy vacuum cleaners snaked through the shallow carpet layered in crumbs and trafficked dirt. 

Satou Hanako wrung her towel dry in the cleaning solution before vigorously hunching over the booth table with wide circular swipes. Beside her, a co-worker rotated a chair to rest atop another dining spot. 

“That was a little more memorable than usual, don’t you think?” Mami had been working there a little longer than Hanako and used her casual attitude as a guide despite being slightly younger. 

“Yeah,” Hanako said, distracted.

“Must have been pretty intense for that kid to act like that, I once got a migraine real bad during my college entrance exams-- I thought I was gonna  _ die _ .” She laughed at her own brand of dramatics. 

Hanako didn’t share the laugh. In fact, she wasn’t looking at her friend-- invested in her work as she was. It was enough to form a scowl on Mami’s face. 

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re hung up about that customer?” 

That got her attention. “Huh? W-Why do you say that?” Mami laughed at her stammering.

“I never took you for liking high school students,” She teased. “I was working the front all afternoon, I noticed you looking at his booth the  _ entire  _ time.”

Hanako was blushing. “N-no, it’s a misunderstanding.” 

“What, you just looking in his direction? He seemed taken by his little girlfriend there.”

“It’s not like that…” She complained softly but Mami was already carried away by the fun of her narrative. 

“Oh, are you betting on the winds of youth to carry his fancy for her to your quiet, sensible,  _ mature  _ wiles? _ ‘I’ll wait till graduation~’  _ A+ drama right there! Though is 25 really that much older than a typical high schooler?”

“Mami-chan!” She said a little more forcefully, resulting in her friend’s petty grumbling. Hanako suppressed a groan-- her eyes were stinging again. She pulled out her phone from the apron pocket and opened the selfie camera. She tugged at the skin around her eyes, carefully observing how the thin contact lens lined up around her irises. The irritation was clear as day, practically making them useless in function. Her new pair couldn’t come in faster.

“For such a shy girl, you break the company rules a lot with your phone out all the time.”

Mami seemed more impressed than scolding, smiling wryly. Hanako pursed her lips and gave her a pointed look. Hands up, her friend surrendered her guilt.

“Hey, you’re not as invisible as you think.”

Mami returned to her task after that. Hanako, with her phone still out, hesitated before changing to her phone’s gallery. Her expression dropped. The most recent image was poorly focused, at an odd angle with the dim lighting that made it filled with an inappropriate amount of shadow. 

But in all the blurriness was the light brown spikes of his hair, the blue of his eyes looking at his friend with concern-- completely unaware.

* * *

It had only just fallen dark by the time Sora rose up the stairs to his apartment. His conversation with Anon consisted of an update on Inoue’s investigations. They simply advised for caution, apparently just as lost as he was on what it meant to have his donation check leaked. The reporter's revelation was a little more substantial. 

_ <I’m going to see what I can do about the damage from the potential article.> _

That was enough to stump Sora into radio-silence. His friend worked in mysterious ways. The current arrangement between them was growing to be an undeniable hindrance and he had to wonder why Anon insisted on the nameless, non-personal interaction. Maybe, they were physically unable to be beside him? It didn’t seem far fetched for distance to be the reason but it was very hard to pin Anon with a question like that. They were maddeningly vague and responded inconsistently. 

He was lost in thought on the final flight of stairs when a sight on his landing caught his eye.

“Sawada.” Sora was surprised, to say the least. The friend in question was leaning against his door, still in uniform, underneath a dark sweater. He kicked himself off the door as Sora slowly rose to meet him.

“Hey…” An awkward tension in his voice. Uncertain. He was suddenly appearing very self-conscious. “I… I was wondering if I could hang at your place for a little tonight.”

Sora was overcome with the concern of this strange meeting. “I mean  _ of course _ but… is everything okay?” Exasperation. The sweater appeared to be brand new, a street-side purchase to avoid any truancy stops from the authorities. He didn’t go home after skipping his afternoon classes it seemed. 

Sawada shrugged. “ I was a little dramatic at lunch.” It was a strange admission, laced with self-disdain. “And my mom was contacted by the school after I skipped.” His voice was thick.

“She knows I’m here. I just... don’t want to go home yet. Please.”

His eyes were puffy. He was holding back his desperation. His fear of going home. Sora’s school bag hit the floor. It surprised Sawada, but perhaps it shouldn’t have. Arms wrapped him without a word. His chin poked over Sawada’s shoulders. His hair lightly tickled his cheek.

He tensed at the hug, before relenting to the offered sanctuary. Sawada shuddered a sigh of relief. 

....

“I don’t have much to eat,” Sora said inviting him into the apartment with a flick of his hallway lights. It appeared exactly the same as the first time he had visited-- like he barely touched anything. “I usually eat these, bento-things from a convenience store…” Sora produced the package from the fridge and displayed it with a twinge of embarrassment. 

“It’s fine.” Sawada was amused by Sora’s sudden mother-hen anxiety. He took a seat on the lone sofa in the living space, positioned before the small TV. 

“It’s a school night, do you want to do our homework together?”

“I left my school bag in the classroom.”   


“Oh…” Sora seemed at a loss for what to offer his friend.

“You can do your homework, don’t let me keep you.”

Sora responded with a quick stride across the room from the small kitchen. He placed a canned beverage lingering on the door of the fridge into Sawada’s hand. “I’d rather not.”

He snapped his own can open and offered it before him with a toothy grin. Sawada hesitantly clicked his drink with Sora’s. 

“Does that TV get apps?” Sawada asked with a slight gesture to the black rectangle. “We could watch something…”

“I  _ don’t  _ know what that means.” Sora, still grinning.

Sawada opened a streaming app and placed his log-in, grateful that Sora had internet in his barely lived-in abode. Meanwhile, the resident was finagling a quick meal for the two of them. They enjoyed a comfortable silence while they prepared their respective activities, Sora stewing on the concerning slew of information Inoue provided, the impending article, the freak headache… But he ultimately decided that the info dump could wait. Sawada was clearly struggling after his fight with Takashi.

If he wanted an escape, Sora was happy to give it.

“You know…” Sawada started as he began flipping through a streaming catalog. “I used to do this with Takashi all the time. We’d just crash at each other's houses, boot up a game system and play till morning.”

He laughed in the nostalgia. “But one time I was really into movies and we watched an entire superhero franchise in one sitting. That was like… 16 hours.”

Sora balked. " _ 16 hours?  _ I don’t think I could sit still for  _ one _ …”

Sawada’s face fell, distant. “Yeah, I don’t think Takashi was that into it. He… slept through a lot of them…”

There was a pause. Emotion welling once again in Sawada.

“I should have known. He was… too nice to say anything to me.” 

Sora wanted to take Sawada away from the bad memories. He wanted to throw a wooden sword at him, roleplay a swashbuckling adventure, play a dastardly villain and climb around a sandy island with boundless mischief. Bring things to normal.

“How about  _ we  _ watch a movie,” Sora said with a jolt of energy. “I don’t think we can do a movie marathon, but like… maybe one.”

Maybe he could wash those bittersweet memories with some that they shared instead.

Sawada blinked away the slight whiplash from Sora’s insistence. “W-What do you have in mind?”

“I am not from this world, Sawada. Please pick for me.”

His friend had a faint smile on his lips as he regarded that offer. “I’ve got an idea… but let me know right away if you’re not comfortable.” 

Sora raised a brow as Sawada started flying through the catalog from the app. It wasn’t until a flash of familiar images passed through the screen till Sora slacked with realization. His eyes peeled to the screen he watched as the selections filled some kind of queue. “What..?”

Sawada navigated to his list. “This might be weird for you… but would you like to… visit some old friends of yours?”

Lingering on the screen was the image of the Beast. And Belle was pictured too, looking positively beautiful. Sora’s eyes were wide with the sight. The picture was looking right at him. They were looking at him. His  _ friends _ . How were they doing? Did Beast’s temper simmer down now that Belle was by his side? Were they happy? How about Cogsworth? And Lumière?

Fond memories were falling into line. Belle’s awesome ploy against Xaldin. The fluttery feeling he got just watching Belle and Beast look at each other… 

The image vanished. Only to be replaced with the fierce and noble Fa Mulan staring through an impressive blade. He made a small sound of surprise. Sawada pressed the ‘down’ button again.

Jack Skellington’s soliloquies upon the twisted hill. 

Pinocchio and _ Jiminy Cricket _ . His steadfast traveling companion.

Simba! Being a lion was such a zany blast. 

Ariel and Alice and Tarzan and he remembered Cinderella! Quasimodo and Rapunzel and Elsa and… and…

“I take it as a yes?”

Sora’s hand was clenching his chest, overwhelmed and achy. “How can I choose one?” His voice was a little more than a whisper. He missed them. He missed them all.

“Just pick the  _ first  _ one.”

Sora took the remote and began slowly scrolling the options.

“Movies,-- animated movies, in particular, take a lot of love to make.” Sawada offered lightly. “Artists spend years on a single movie. Writing, drawing, acting, perfecting it. That’s why I’ve always loved them-- I mean with these movies the sky's the limit.” 

Sora took a moment to consider the line of Ariel’s submerged red hair floating around her story’s title. The way it moved, dictated by some artist. What seemed like a natural beauty when he was in the awe-inspiring underwater city of Atlantica was by complete, mortal design. He wasn’t sure what that meant for him. He remembered how the sun shimmered along his own skin in tendrils of moving patterns. Did someone draw that?

“ _‘The sky’s the limit,_ ’” Sora quoted belatedly. He scrolled up, before finally stopping on a title. “There is something I miss…”

_ Peter Pan _ .

“Flying?”

The lights went out when the classic film began. The world of the kind Wendy Darling, the iconic Big Bend clock tower whose amber light Sora could hold vividly in his head. He listened to her story, enraptured by the kind of person she was. He felt her love for her family in her delicate expressions. Familiar, this movie pulled everything he knew about Wendy and then some into a bath of light. A light that illuminated his dark apartment. 

And then Peter showed up. His wry, adventuresome mischief was something a younger Sora couldn’t help but feel attracted to. It was his island games brought to life in a person. Oh and Tinkerbell too. The boy who refused to grow up swept into the screen the world of Neverland and all the woes and wonders of it. His memories of the person confirmed with every twitch and line of dialogue. After a moment, Sora felt less of a disparity between his understanding of the characters and their world and sooner found himself immersed in the delightful magic.

Sometime during the movie, Sawada fell asleep-- the day’s emotions catching up on him. All the while, Sora never felt more alive, consumed.

When they were flying through the clouds, when their town was just a speck, and the stars were an arm's length away. Sora imagined how that felt. He  _ knew  _ how that felt. 

Peter whisked Wendy away to the second star to the right.

Sora placed a hand on the TV screen as if it were simply a window. The urge to gently push that window open lingered around his shadow-casted fingers. Tantalizing. Breath-taking. He wanted… he wanted….

_ Take me with you. _

* * *

Sora woke Sawada while the credits were rolling, and Sawada caught a sparsely filled train home. It was hard to say if he was any more ready to face his mother’s wrath then before, but he knew the moment of respite lingered still.

But reality crashes hard. The lights were on, serving as an almost physical force, pressing against his front door like rabid dogs against their chains. Deep breath. He opened the door.

He noticed it immediately, it wasn’t his mother, waiting in the entryway. No, he could hear her toiling away in the kitchen yet again. Stacked on the floor were the bricks of computing hardware, generations of his gaming systems, their controllers, dripping in cords. Once protected in his room, they appeared tossed and forgotten on the floor. Lopsided in a pile like a bunch of rocks.

The shock of defensive instincts rippled through him faster than any logic could. He released a tortured cry of protest, falling to his knees to get closer to his treasured consoles. He righted one of his PlayStations gingerly, trying to assess the damage.

“Welcome home.” His mother loomed over him, arms crossed.

The shock and confusion spilled over. “Mom!” He raised his head in horror. Her scowl was dark and unmoving.

“Why didn’t you answer my messages?”

He couldn’t find the words. Her expression twisted vindictively.

“Stop your whimpering Shoto.” She sneered. “What gave you the right to skip school? Do you know how shocked I was to receive that call? And then you _ ignore me _ ? I did  _ not  _ raise you like that.”

“What the hell?!” Sawada yelled red-faced. “You… You could break them!”

“Watch your tone!” She snapped. “I bet it’s that new friend of yours. Kakehashi, right?”

Her expression was so ugly. It physically hurt him to look any longer and his head bowed toward his consoles. 

“Did he convince you to skip classes? You said you went to his house too. _ What a shame _ . And I thought he was a kind young man when you brought him.”

Sawada pulled an older system from the pile. The optical drive was propped open from whatever haphazard handling his mother performed in transporting it. There was a game inside still, CD art peeking from inside.

Sora’s young and grinning face also hurt to look at. 

“I hate two-faced kids like that.”

* * *

The next day, Inoue intercepted Sora once again to take advantage of the morning downtime.

“Where are we going?” Sora asked. At first, she pulled him along the halls, but a few glances her way forced her to trust his following steps.

“We are returning something.” Sora made an ‘o’ out of his mouth when she flashed the ID card the waitress gave them. She stopped at a neighboring class and with the confidence of a judge and jury, she walked in with her head held high. Sora was a sad echo in comparison. 

“Kimura-kun,” She began, grabbing the attention of a socializing 2nd-year resembling the picture. “This was found in a cafe. Thought you might miss it.” The ID card was shoved in his face, the lanyard whipping from the force. The pair watched his eyes grow wide.

“Wha--When?” He spluttered. They didn’t expect that intensity. He took it back mindlessly. 

Inoue poised herself upright, before sliding into a nearby seat as if she belonged in the class. 

“More like why? You were meeting with a reporter weren’t you?”

Sora felt awkward just standing there, but her slicing interrogation was a show in and of itself. Kimura jerked back defensively, before turning to a brand of anger. 

“Like I’m telling you.”

“The school paper is approved by a council vote. I can easily campaign some major edits…”

Kimura scoffed. “What a bluff. No one likes you in the council, like hell you could do any damage to my work.”

If that comment affected Inoue in any way, you’d never know. She had a remarkable poker face. Stoick and simmering.  “You were meeting with a reporter about the bribery case. You presented evidence.”

Kimura’s eyes darted in Sora’s direction. “Uh… a little conflict of interest here?”

“Give me a straight answer.”

“Why should I? You’re just gonna try to protect the school’s top brass-- and the culprit by the looks of it. Local news is a little dry, you can expect it any day now.”

Inoue rose dramatically from her chair. “Let’s go, Kakehashi-kun.”

She was an ice storm. Sora trailed behind with a twinge of guilt. 

“I shouldn’t have been there…” He said. Inoue shook her head, looking ahead. 

“Unfortunately it wouldn’t have made a difference. My reputation precedes me.”

That sounded like a can of worms. They slowed by their homeroom when Sora popped his question. “ _ Are _ you interested in protecting the school?”

There was a pause. More ice. A vengeful wind chill.

Inoue’s intensity was hard to bear the brunt of. Even with Riku’s stoic nature, there was an ever-present gentleness this girl lacked. After a moment she directed that seriousness at him.

“They could take legal action against your dad, you know. I don’t see you that concerned about that.”

The turn-around was unexpected and stupefied Sora. He hadn’t really considered that side of things. If Anon was posing as his dad, that bribe was meant to help him… laws and judicial systems were not something he thought of. But Anon most likely knew about that…

“It should be fine.” He said. Anon didn’t seem concerned. That didn’t seem to satisfy the girl. 

“We’re back to square one again Kakehashi-kun.” She complained, irritated. “Who even is your dad?”

Who was… his dad? Anon? 

He actually chuckled. “Good question.”

Inoue didn’t seem amused. “You… don’t know who your dad is?”

Her genuine question caught him off guard, and Sora froze. How to explain this? What would she think of the entire anonymous benefactor? Maybe she’d get as hostile as Sawada to the idea… not exactly the conversation he wanted to break into. But maybe he could tell her about his  _ real  _ dad. Layer another lie?-- the thought betrayed his heart, but it wouldn’t be a lie if he just told her about the man who raised him alongside his mother on Destiny Island.

He welcomed the fondness along with the memor…

A cold, slimy feeling slid down and settled into his gut. Sora felt his throat constrict.

Blank.

No nonono that wasn’t right.

He hammered every board into the island playground. He took them to play islet by boat when he was too little to row the oars. He…

  
  


Sora felt a well of panic.

Did he never get it back after the Castle?

No, he’d know that by now.

Who forgets their own father?

“Woah, hey hey.” Inoue said in a hushed tone. “I’m sorry…”

Sora squared his gaze at her. Defeated. A little crazed. Her pity stared back.

* * *

Sora returned to his seat and worked to compose himself before the morning bell rang. Inoue slipped into the stairwell, her phone alight in her hands, dialing a number.

The door closed and Inoue leaned against it for extra protection. That pity, that worry from the earlier exchange dripped off her like rain. She tried to compose her thick voice while the phone rang for the fourth time.

  
  


_ [click] _

  
  


“He doesn’t remember a thing. He just froze, like he was in pain or something.”

* * *

Sora was called to the principal’s office the next day.

The announcement came from Kobayashi at the end of the day, igniting a swell of murmurs and conversation. There was dread, but it wasn’t particularly surprising. Sawada shot him a concerned glance on his way out the door. Inoue did as well. 

Principal Nishikawa was an older man, square-faced and drooping, with a pampered swirl of salty-grey hair. His office, poised near the entrance of the school elaborated that corporate regality with two rows of impressive leather couches before his large desk. The blinds were shuttered from the amber mid-day glare, but the principal perched himself facing them nonetheless, as though positioned there by habit. He left his door open in anticipation of Sora’s arrival.

“Kakehashi-kun. Please close the door.”

Sora nervously offered a bow. “Y-yes, sir.”

The sound of the empty air circulating along the first floor came to an abrupt hush when Sora obliged the request. There was a hesitant pause when he turned around, stomach in knots. 

“Sit.” His tone wasn’t abrasive, but it rubbed Sora like sandpaper regardless. The leather screeched obnoxiously at his resting. New and unused. 

“How have you been adjusting?”

The question caught him off guard. Sora didn’t know a thing about this man except for the fact that he welcomed him into his school without having even met him. Perhaps he had a decent amount of faith in their mutual contact, or at least in the other methods of persuasion. That didn’t translate into a decent understanding between them.

“Uh… okay, I guess.” The pressure of the meeting had him dropping any language formalities, but that nicety was realized too late. 

A light chuckle from the man as he took a seat at his desk. “I certainly hope so. It was a priority to welcome you seamlessly into our halls.”

A twinge of self-consciousness. He gave an extra, nod-like bow. “T-Thank you, sir.”

But then, the sigh. A shift in tone that Sora did not have time to prepare for.

“But I received a strange call from a tabloid reporter yesterday about a certain rumor circling around the student body.”

Yep. Judgment time. Sora squirmed.

“It appears some students got word of your father’s generous donation to the school, despite his insistence on anonymity… such charity is often misunderstood.”

He didn’t know what angle to react. The principal knew he knew right? “Oh,” was all he could muster. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know how such sensitive information got out to the student body do you?” He folded his hands in wait. Sora swallowed thick, the past few days of investigation running far too fast in his mind to gather them. Yoshida spread the rumor, but there was no definite idea of who told him. No one knew that.

“I don’t sir.” Maybe he was protecting some culprits of gossip. But laying-low also meant not incurring the wrath of his enemies any more than he already had.

“Yes, I imagine this has been challenging for you as well. There have been some clearly misconstrued conclusions coming from the uninvolved parties when-- As you know--, the speed of your integration was of great demand.”

Sora nodded, though the insight was entirely new.

“I was in conference with your father earlier today and we agreed on an arrangement to satisfy the misunderstanding. Soroku High, does not permit admission without an entrance exam score above a certain percentile. The potential scandal here lies in your lack of testing, therefore I plan to make public an academic probation issued to you in lieu of standard testing.”

“ _ Probation? _ ” Sora couldn’t help his surprise. This was Anon’s plan? Nishikawa twitched at Sora’s mannerisms but continued still.

“It’s a formality, but something that will satisfy sensationalizing media. In the coming midterms, you will be expected to stay above the 60th percentile of your class. I have already received approval from your father to make such details public.”

When Anon claimed to be taking care of this stare-inducing scandal, he didn’t expect to place another spotlight on him. And on his academics too? Sora was many things, but book-smart was not one of them. How was this laying low? He couldn’t hide his clear anxiety.

“Now now. The bar isn’t so high to warrant any panicking. We have plenty of resources to ensure you reach your goal. Meanwhile, I will exhaust similar resources to discover who leaked that sensitive information.”

Those words were not a comfort, Sora was still reeling. Was this really going to work? 

“I am doing your father a great favor.” Nishikawa insisted evenly. “He and I both agreed that giving you a normal, high school life was of the utmost importance-- considering of course,... after your accident.”

...What? 

  
  


The principal was looking at him with pity. Sad, helpless, uncontained, pity. He continued speaking but Sora was stuck. Stuck on that one, left-field, loaded word. Spinning around his thoughts like a red-hot virus.

  
“But I hope you understand that I have a school to run and a reputation to maintain even so.”

...Accident?

In the expanse of their trailing conversation, the final bell rang and Principal Nishikawa ushered Sora out the door. The student exodus resembled the chaos in his brain, loud, milling, lingering, uncomfortable. He couldn’t pinpoint the emotion brewing under the haze of confusion. It forced him long and wheezing breaths.

_ Accident? _

And then Sora felt his heart stop as a blistering bolt of lightning struck him in the head. 

A strangled cry escaped him once again as the hot, pounding agony greeted him. His ears were ringing. Shrill alarms as the assault proverbially beat him and stabbed him. Punishing all thoughts and freezing his motion into a stumble.

The other students were hovering around him, their conversations were incomprehensible. Some tried to help him up as he gnashed his teeth forcefully through the exploding pain. Some had concern, while others had skepticism. 

It was only momentary, just as the attack from the other day, and at the first sign of dimming, Sora was plowing through the students toward his classroom. 

“Sora?” Sawada was one of a handful of students still in the classroom, leaning by his desk. At Sora’s arrival, the alarm bells went up. “What’s wrong?”

Sora didn’t respond, instead, he went straight toward his desk grabbing his phone from its hiding spot. On a mission and still reeling from the pain, Sora began furiously typing away at his smartphone’s keyboard, with all the texting frustrations applying. The other students and the room seemed less enthralled by Sora’s display and took their conversations elsewhere.

“Uh… is everything okay?” Sawada pressed again. “What did Principal Nishikawa have to say?”

Sora miss-typed a word. The task demanded too much nuance. His hand was shaking.

The emotion under all of the confused haze was anger. It was dark and fearful and out of control. 

He slammed his finger onto the call icon. 

Shallow heaves of air counted down the ringing until…

_ [beeeep] The person you have dialed is unavailable. Please leave a message. [beeeep] _

Sora was at a loss for words at the sudden and deafening silence on the other end of the line. Waiting for him. He had pressed the icon without thinking. Anon didn’t  _ talk  _ to him. They only messaged whenever they felt like it. But Sora was trembling, confused with a ghost of his agony throbbing his temples. It stuck in his throat like bile.

“ _ Hey!”  _ He said to the receiver, letting something else in him take the controls. “What… What is this about some  _ accident _ ?!” His voice felt weaker somehow in his exclamation. That virus-like word cracked his composure “Aren’t we supposed to be on the same page here?”

There was the fear. The uncertainty. Principal Nishikawa was clearly running a different story than Sora. When did they expect him to catch up? 

“Please...ju--”

_ [beeeep] _

Sora dropped his phone onto his desk and ran his hands through his hair, consoling the lingering vestiges of the migraine. 

“What…?” Sawada trailed, hesitant beside Sora who wouldn’t look at him. But the question was enough to make him snap. 

“Anon is lying to me, that’s what.” Tears pricked his eyes around a face flushed red. His bark made Sawada flinch back in surprise. It was like a floodgate and Sora let the anxiety spillover.

“The principal was… was mentioning this accident and-- and that wasn’t the cover story Anon told me and there was no reason  _ at all  _ to just not say anything…!” His voice was growing shrill.

“Why would they do that!? What else are th--”

“--Sora!” 

Sora felt Sawada forcefully grab him by the shoulders and square him to his wide-eyed but furious gaze. 

“You need to  _ Calm _ .  _ Down _ .” He shook him for emphasis. “ _ This isn’t like you Sora _ .”

Sora froze in his friend’s grip, the sudden realization of how unbearably tight his own muscles were constricting. This wasn’t like him. He didn’t do that. That wasn’t something Sora did.

The phone vibrated against the desk, stopping any and all calming efforts. The sound rattled through the room. A message received.

_ <It’s time we met.> _

-X...Continue?-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's too much to talk about so I won't talk about anything. Maybe I'll ramble on my twitter if you want to check that out (@kitsoa1). I was over the moon with the last chapter's response and really look forward to seeing what you all think of this chapter. Please be healthy and safe out there. <3


	19. Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up.

_ <It's time we met.> _

Sora did not consider himself a vengeful or spiteful person. He saw the light in everyone, he brought out the best from the people around him. It was the nature of his magnetism. A charisma that allowed him to cruise into the hearts of so many and bind them to a greater concept. He was trusting to a fault because that was the gamble needed to forge a bond that would otherwise dissipate.

The ‘accident’. The lie. What else. Why.

It felt like a poison. It froze his responding fingers. Let Anon talk to a wall. 

Sora had been here too long.

The details were set without dialogue. The time. The place. A few messages pulling at his heart laced in concern. He imagined a regret in the subtext of those messages and the confusion and hurt swept him against his angels. 

Sawada demanded to attend. And while Sora agreed with eagerness, Anon’s morning tweet had him irrationally regretting the aid.

_ <Can you bring your friend with you? I want to meet him.> _

The message froze him in the middle of looping his tie.

Why? What for? A protective instinct clenched him tight. At this point, Sawada was the only person he could trust. He treasured the relief of Sawada’s belief, of his blind faith. The echo of his friend’s caution about Anon during their earlier conversations now dug under his skin and validated the needly poison in his system. Fear hovered around the edges. 

It was the unknown. What Anon wanted. What Anon was capable of. What did he want? What was he capable of? 

...When weighing his options, inviting Sawada along was just going to have to be a demand Sora met. 

It was in the process of checking his phone that another metallic gleam stopped him in his tracks. Laid across his desk was his signature crown necklace, abandoned after a sharp dress-code scolding. He had started to grow accustomed to the freedom around his neck to an almost bittersweet end. It was the last thing from his old world that was stripped from him.

Spiteful. How about defiant? Sora grabbed the necklace, letting the spines of the crown lightly bore into his hands. Just holding the jewelry satisfied some demand for courage. He slipped it on like a medal and did his best to conceal the bulky metal under his uniform shirt. 

Today. After school. Tully’s. 

* * *

“We need to talk.”

Sawada narrowed his gaze in suspicion. Sure, Inoue had taken on a slight change of demeanor as of late, but he saw through the act. Perhaps it was the retroactive recollection of Takashi. The furtive looks, the hesitation, passionless voice. Every twitch around Sora made by Inoue was layered in alternate emotion. She was fake. Fake and manipulative. 

“I don’t trust you.” 

She rolled her eyes at his cinematic lines. He didn’t notice until her hand slapped the door beside her that they were standing once again by the stairwell.

“Your trusting nature is fair weather only.”

It was enough of an insult to get him to follow her. She hovered by the door, back to him, as the anti-slamming mechanism slowed it to a close. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry.”

Sawada gave a pause. He almost didn’t hear her. “Uh… what for?”

She looked down for a moment too long. “That day... I called you... ‘crazy’ too...”

That was it? He clicked his tongue in a seething sigh.“It’s what you believe. I can’t change that.”

She still wasn’t looking at him, but that quickly changed when she found the courage to turn around. How the ice queen had melted. “That doesn’t make it right to say.”

This display irritated Sawada. She looked guilty, a pout of self-frustration adding to her confusing, aimless confession. Two-faced.

“Are you wanting a medal for admitting that name-calling is mean?” A snarl. “You _are_ correct: ‘it _doesn’t_ make it right’ because there’s nothing ‘crazy’ about believing the _truth_.”

That shut her up for a long pause. He watched as she slowly lifted her school bag off her shoulder, her hand reaching in with practiced navigation. She couldn’t look at his challenge in the eye. “You’re not crazy, Sawada. I _was_ wrong.”

She sighed and pulled the object out of her bag. 

“But…” There wasn’t an ounce of happiness in her voice as she presented it to Sawada. “I _am_ right.”

Sawada grabbed the photograph slowly, taking in the contents with wide and frantic eyes. Confusion. It morphed into a fire of defense. “ _Where did you get this?_ ” 

Inoue gripped the handle of her school bag in response, shaking her head. “That’s all I can say.”

“Where did you get this?” Sawada asked again, voice rising in pitch and Inoue took a step back. 

“I-I’m sorry.” She pushed the door open and darted to class.

Sawada stood alone in a closed-off stairwell. Blankly staring. Fighting. Defending. 

* * *

Sora rubbed the necklace as he and Sawada walked into Tully’s. His nerves were a live wire and he instantly began darting his attention around the cafe, taking stock of the various customers both in line and lounging. He didn’t notice the unfortunate vantage point of his paranoid investigation and he caught the reaction of a person mistakenly in his line of sight.

“Y-yes?” The waitress from before seemed flustered by his intense staring though he was really trying to look over her shoulder in the corner of the dining room. Her genuine surprise shocked him out of his own intensity. 

“Oh, uh… I’m sorry I was looking for someone.”

“No, I’m sorry… let me know if I can help… Sora.”

Sora jolted at the name. For a moment he had forgotten that this stranger in the cafe had a sweet tone of voice so very similar… when she said his name it was almost like… 

“I-I remember you from before! That’s how I know.” She quickly defended her familiar use of the name, red-faced at any implication of her knowledge. Sora couldn’t help the amused smirk. 

“It’s okay, Satou-san.”

Sawada observed the exchange silently, an unreadable consideration loading through his face. His pocket burned in more than one way. “I’ll take care of our orders.”

He stood in line while Sora positioned himself by the front window, doing a final spinning once-over for _someone_ . So Anon wasn’t there yet. They _were_ early. That was reasonable. As a precaution, Sora laid his phone face-up on the table in preparation for any alerts. 

“Any sign of him?” Sawada asked, returning from the counter. 

“No, it doesn’t help that I don’t know what kind of person I’m even looking for,” Sora grumbled, anxiously, tilting back in his seat to peer behind a self-service station. 

“Hm.” A hum of agreement. Sora half expected Sawada to gloat at the current turn of events with Anon, but he spoke very little on the way to the cafe and very little while in wait. Sawada's back was to the door, but he made no attempt to aid in looking around. Was he still down about the other day?

“You know the waitress’s name.” He observed after a moment of silence. 

“Yeah… I met her when I was here the other day with Inoue-san.”

There was a small tap of rubber. Sawada stiffened, untangling his lounging legs and squaring the soles of his shoes straight on the floor. 

“We basically figured out that a reporter has the school’s story.”

“...And that’s why you were called to the principal’s office.”

“Yep. A lot of good that work did.” Sora tapped his phone impatiently, no messages. He wasn’t sure what to say about the headache that happened after that investigation. He wasn’t sure how to bring up either painful instances. 

A few more moments passed between them where such topics as the next movie binge (‘It’s your choice”) and the controller investigation (“we’re at a dead-end”) fell flat to the tense air. Sawada was distracted, it seemed. A malaise of disconnect that pressed. Finally, Sora, stuck between the captivating possibility of Anon walking through the door and the nagging sensation right before him, abruptly asked.

“Are you _okay_?”

Sawada looked like a deer in the headlights. That was a concern sooner granted to Sora. There was a call from the counter. Saved from the question, Sawada rose graciously from his seat to retrieve their drinks.

Sora checked his phone again. It was official now that Anon was _late._ Frantic energy simmered along with those toxic thoughts from earlier that morning. Suspicion. Tension. Defensive hostility. What a mess this was.

And then there was a sudden crash behind him. 

Sora shot up out of his chair and turned around to see a cleaning-bucket, once full of water, rolling along the floor by an empty table, a small lake forming in the clattering echoes. Surprised bystanders balked in the offense.

“Oh!” Satou exclaimed her horror at the accident, halting her commute to the self-service counter across the room. “Oh my gosh!” She was distressed as she approached the mess, most likely her fault.

Sora tore his attention away, looking out for her teammates to aid her only to then regard Sawada’s return.

“Damn, that’s a mess.” He observed, handing the drink to Sora mindlessly. 

“Yeah… I wonder where…” Sora trailed, musing about wanting a nearby mop while setting the cup down.

But then he did a double-take. 

His phone.

“My phone.”

He choked, stupefied. 

It was gone.

He immediately shot to the floor to check under his chair. The stark emptiness greeted him.

“It’s gone!” Sora couldn’t help the moan of anxiety, already shuffling around his school bag despite his understanding of the situation.

“Gone? Is it not in your bag?”

“No!” A violent shake of his head. “I-It was on the table just a second ago…”

Sawada was wide-eyed with his mouth in a tight line. He slowly sat down, encouraging Sora to do the same. “Was it stolen?”

“I don’t know _how_.”

“This would be just your luck…” Sawada trailed, assessing the situation. He hesitated with a thought. “You don’t think Anon is already here and playing some trick on you do you?”

In his current state of mind, the wild suggestion made perfect sense. That toxic distrust seized his every thought. The resulting paranoia made his nerves shiver with hyper-awareness. The sensation of being watched. The fear of an unseen threat.

He slowly scanned the room. Not a corner seemed safe. Not a face was innocent.

There was a student on a laptop at the couches. An older woman chatted with a relative in the booth. A businessman on the phone. A line by the counter, customers distracted by the slow and arduous clean-up of Satou’s water mess.

But the motion in that stillness locked Sora’s attention instantly. A man, dressed in dark clothes and wearing a black beanie, in line, slowly-- _slowly--_ pulling a designer wallet out of the purse of the distracted woman in front of him.

**_“HEY!”_ **

The bark came out of his mouth before he even registered the moment. All that worry and paranoia vanished in an instant. All eyes were on him but it didn’t matter. A long missed intensity rippled through his veins and focused his attention.

The wallet thief froze, feeling the brunt of Sora’s targeted alarm. 

And then he broke into a run, snapping time back into motion and throwing the front entrance open in a frenzy, his prize in hand. 

**_“HEY!”_ ** Sora screamed again and his body was moving. The chair crashed behind him. The glass door slammed into his hand.

“S-Sora!?” Sawada called after in alarm as his friend scrambled out of the cafe. He stumbled after them out the door. “Sora!”

The cafe was baffled in the still wake of the outburst. Customers alight with assessment and conversation and confusion. 

Satou glanced around with a shallow breath, baffled but nervous, lightly gripping a mop. She reached inside her apron…

...and pulled out Sora’s phone.

Her expression sobered. A dark frown. Sharp, decisive eyes. She unlocked his phone with a swipe and immediately started scrolling through his archives.

Bus tables. Poise the bucket dangerously on a chair. Call the name of the nearby patron. Chairs clatter. Bucket falls. Distraction initiated during a commute across the dining room, pass the paranoid and unsuspecting student.

She hovered at her place, now staring out the window of the cafe where Sora, his friend, and the other mysterious thief had disappeared.

* * *

The crown pendant knocked wildly across his collar. An adrenaline-fueled nostalgia. The thief weaved around pedestrians with reckless desperation, exclamations, and cries in his wake. The late afternoon traffic in the underground shopping mall was notable, making the damage of pursuit substantial but also serving as a means to slow him down.

Sora pumped his arms, feeling out of shape. When was the last time he exerted himself like this? Not since…

Sora pressed on, the threat of bystander collision inhibiting him more than his target.

“Watch it!”

“What the…” 

The thief reached the entrance of the mall, faced with the decision to break for the trains or the crowded business district. To the crowds.

Driven by the injustice of the moment, Sora forced himself through the swell of people-- the lights cutting through the daytime, the skyscrapers sprouting from the concrete, the imposing 104 building watching over him. 

The crosswalk lights were floodgates that signaled the exodus of pedestrians and for a moment, the dark-clad thief was swallowed. Sora surveyed the area, mindlessly pushing aside shoulders and rising to his toes to look above heads. There were curses around him. Bodies pushing. He stumbled around the outskirts. 

But the dark figure was running, easy to pick out. 

Sora cut the corner and gained ground. Behind him was the sound of his name, Sawada clearly in pursuit. No time to look around, because the thief slipped down a path beside a commercial building. Sora was fast behind him.

The alley was a car’s width, packed with storage and peppered with emergency exits and custodial entryways with tall and imposing walls. Shadows creating a night during the day. At the end of the alley there was a fence encircling a trash container, still rattling as the thief climbed off to the other side.

Without hesitation Sora jumped on the chainlinks, encumbered by the awkward grip and the climbing surface’s slight give. The fence-metal dug into him and the remarkable drop in speed brought a fervent reminder of the nature of this world’s gravity, the limits of the physical body.

His uniform snagged on the protruding top of the fence as he seized himself over into the contained garbage depository space. His shoes failed to slot into the fences.

Graceless. Sora slipped, his caught blazer suddenly splitting with a loud and forceful rip. He crashed, knocking his skull onto dark asphalt, the smell of alley trash assaulting him with just as much impact. Head throbbing, Sora shook, trying to rise faster than his body wanted. Panting. Aching.

“You’re a persisted little shit.”

Sora lifted his head. The thief kicked off the wall beside the trash container where he had been leaning in wait, between that and the industrial door connected to the looming building above them. In his hands was the wallet, he turned it back and forth with only half a mind to its value.

The crown on Sora’s neck dangled like a pendulum. 

“Stop…” 

Sora tried to speak louder but he was gasping for air. The running had taken out a lot. The fall was an insult to injury.

“You trying to be some kind of hero, kid?”

_“You looked like you needed help. I made it my business.”_

_“What, are you some kind of hero?”_

The memory was intrusive and crippling. 

He did what was right. Helping people was just what Sora did. The suggestion. The taunt. It was a cutting insult that drew a vivid dichotomy between what he wanted and the clear reality.

“Well?” He grunted, drawing closer to Sora’s still struggling form.“You gonna do something?”

The pain was still echoing through his body (so long and persistently). Sora got his feet poised under him as a black fury was simmering under his skin. 

“Jeez and I actually ran from a pathetic punk like you.”

In a force of will, Sora rose to his feet and lunged. His fist swinging along with a strangled cry...

Only for a rock hard boot to slam into his stomach. Sora fell back against the fence that shimmered metallic music at his impact. 

A barking laugh. “He really does think he’s a little hero!” His expression dropped. “You gotta stop watching anime kid.”

And the man threw his fists into Sora’s face, knuckles goring into his cheek and nose, a white-hot explosion of pain taking over every single thought. Sora reeled, blood pooled into his mouth from his nose and teeth.

He swung again, this time slamming his vulnerable stomach. He cried out.

“Can’t take a little pain? You’ve seen nothing.” There was a barrage and every hit shook and rattled the cage. Like chains, the blows wound tight around every thought and sensation. Sora couldn’t remember anything greater. Keyblades to the chest? The burn of fire? Projectiles spearing into him. The metaphysical claws of creatures dark and void alike. Crushed by dark chains and heartless guardians. They suddenly didn’t seem real.

Sora’s hands listlessly tried to stop the assault only to get swept in the impact and pull his joints in painful ways. 

There was a perfectly placed blow and Sora twisted, falling to the ground, dripping blood and spit. A paradoxical sensation of expansion and contraction consumed his airways and he retched.

A laugh, drunk with the scenario. An abrupt weight fell atop Sora’s back and he turned his head to stare at the man stepping on him. The process had the crown’s spike press into his soft neck.

“Reality check, kid. You’re no fucking hero.”

There was a distant voice snaking down the narrow alley, snatching the man from his power trip.

“Shit.” And the thief kicked off Sora.

There was a clattering of metal above him-- the shuffle of keys followed by the industrial doors beside the trash container groaning in the release. The folly of the mechanism unlatching and hinges creaking spoke of the thief’s very abrupt exit.

The sound of footsteps rang in time with Sora’s racing heart and throbbing head. His body protesting his static existence.

The alley echoed with the wail of a walkie speaker. “We found the kid, the suspect has abandoned the scene. Requesting assistance.”

Followed by a... “Copy.”

“Sora!” There was the rattle of the fence as Sawada curled his fingers against the metal. 

“There are tools in my patrol car.” Another officer offered.

“I’m gonna check on him.” Sora eyed the first officer as he locked his shoes into the fence and began a steady climb.

Sora regarded the bustle around him in a daze. The pain made all sensations dull, but most of the numbness came from a sudden mental disconnect.

“Hey kid, I need you to answer some questions.” The officer was shining a light in his unresponsive face. He cringed against it. Why weren’t they going after the thief? ...Why did he go after the thief in the first place…

The fence wires were snapping one after the other. Perhaps one more officer joined the party. Sawada was corralled to the edges of their work. The late afternoon was burning into an evening hue. Pinks and oranges. The hint of blood red. Not that any light could reach him.

* * *

The black-clad thief stormed up the custodial stairwell with pounding footsteps that rang off the abundant metal. He shoved the janitor’s keys-- swiped earlier that day--into his pants pockets while unzipping his black windbreaker. By the time he had circled the spiral of stairs 5 times, he had produced a clip-on tie and fastened it to his polo. His hair was released from under the beanie and aside from his more labor-oriented boots, he appeared to have some corporate purpose. 

That was his cue to leave the stairwell into the carpeted offices of the towering building. He passed a trashcan and shoved his windbreaker into it. Down the hall were restrooms and the thief tossed the master keys by the entrance, making way toward the floor to ceiling windows. The view pointed out toward the busy streets, milling with pedestrians. Comfortable with the vantage point, he pulled out his phone.

“Done. You have till Tuesday for the rest of the wire.”

A pause. A light laugh.

“I’m sorry if he’s a little damaged. I think I was expecting a little more based on what you told me. Hope that taught whatever lesson you were hoping for.”

In the corner of his view were the telltale uniforms of the Shibuya force rushing into the small station. Two boys were being escorted along.

“A pleasure doing business.”

* * *

The officers handed him an ice pack when they sat him down on a lobby chair. Sawada sat beside him, more silent now than he was at the cafe. Phones were ringing. The analog clocks ticked away. All the noise but none of the sound. 

There was a welt forming on his left cheek dripping with water from the ice pack. A cut along his temple, now bandaged under tape. A split lip jutting his mouth into a dead-faced pout. There was blood dried to his face no amount of kindness had the patience to scrub. They feared his nose broken.

Sawada didn’t say anything because Sora knew. His blank and despondent stare said everything. The lights were off. The damage weighed him down. He could barely nod his head to permit the officer’s escort. The lack of speaking wasn’t a matter of ability but motivation.

When Sora first arrived in Shibuya, he recalled the forceful questioning from the policeman he ran into. From the revelation of his keybladeless heart and his lack of identity, he wasn’t poised to fare well in the questions of the authorities. He had been scared and ran…

He wondered if that same officer was at this station. 

Sora wasn’t sure what to make of this slow-moving moment. No phone. (How?) No Anon. (no answers) He had a passable identity but how deep did it go? (nonexistent) Now he was hurt.

(Powerless)

His story was foolish.

**_C R A Z Y_ **

_“You trying to be some kind of hero, kid?”_

There was the rumor. The accident. The video game controller. 

Too much.

Make it stop.

Why...

AM I HERE

….was this happening?

The bottle in the ocean. 

Her voice.

Flying to Neverland.

>> Please

He...

H A T E

He couldn’t stand it.

Stuck.

_Stuck stuck stuckstuckstuck_

Forever

“Sora…” Sawada spoke quietly, grabbing his attention. “You were breathing heavy.”

“It’s okay.” A voice kindly offered. One of the officers who tended to him at the scene was standing before him with a clipboard. “He’s been through a lot.”

Pity

“We were hoping you could make a statement for us…While your memory is fresh.”

Sora looked to Sawada who gave a short nod. 

“Your name?” He asked.

He pried his mouth open. There was a good chance his voice box would strike right then and there. It’s not like he liked the answer.

“Kakehashi…” He began, the officer scribbling away. But it was someone behind him that reacted before he could close for the ‘s’. 

“Kakehashi?” It was a female officer who rose from her corner desk. “I- I _knew_ you looked familiar.”

Sora flinched, her voice was too boisterous.

“Okumura…” The interviewing officer chastised. She was suddenly reinvigorated and darted her attention back and forth around the small station in search of something.

“I’m sorry Kaito-kun, but you’ll want to see this...Where…?” She broke from her desk to the wall by the enclosed offices. It was there that a bulletin board hung, dripping in papers. She plucked one off.

Sora didn’t have the mind to focus on the antics, but Sawada was much tenser.

“Okumura, please don’t interrupt while I get the statement…”

“No no. Check it out.” Okumura closed the distance to meet them, waving the paper she grabbed. “He’s the _miracle kid_ \-- Chief Yamauchi _still_ gets choked up about it.”

Miracle kid? Under all of the aches and pains and stress was nausea. What… was going on? A misunderstanding? 

The ‘Kaito’ officer raised a brow, grabbing the paper with irritation. “Oh?... Wow.” He skimmed the paper.

“What are you talking about?” Sawada interjected. Sora had never seen him look that intense before. He was still. Jaw set. The tone of his question monotone, as if he couldn’t trust his emotions. Okumura smiled in response, blind to the stress. “You’re friend’s a bit of a name around here.”

The confidence chugged forward. A show. Strangers. It was as though liquid ice was injected into Sora’s veins, while the excitable adult authority continued.

“Our chief was first on-site during a tragic overturned vehicle accident 3 years ago. Kakehashi-kun was pronounced dead on the scene, but our boss refused to give up and resuscitated him. He mentions it all the time during commencements..."

She tried to eye her partner with a bemused look before directing her attention to Sora. "...but it wasn’t until that feature was published about your full recovery that any of us other than him remembered your name.”

Sawada snatched the paper right from Officer Kaito’s hands. It crinkled from his forceful grab.

If there was a brand of pain greater than blunt force trauma, it had to be the twist of confusion dominating Sora’s headspace. He attempted to swallow while tilting a hair closer to Sawada. His trembling made it almost impossible to read anything aside from the bold-faced title beneath the ‘uplifting’ subgenre of a news publication.

‘RESURRECTED TEEN WAKES FROM 3 YEAR COMA’

“With all those bandages, I didn’t recognize you from the picture.”

At the bottom of the article was Sora’s face, smiling at the camera. The caption reading….

_Kakehashi Kosuke (15) recovers from his 3-year coma in the hospital._

Sora couldn’t breathe. He could only look at his own eyes. That sick, bottom-dropping, uncanny sensation knocked. The looming cardboard cutout. The smiling poster. The keychain. _Wrong._

_WRONG_

_W R_ **_O N G_ **

A mistake. It had to be a mistake. It wouldn’t be the first time he had shared his face with another person.

But this was reality

That had to be the case. 

Misunderstanding.

Trick

A mistake 

The paper rippled in Sawada’s hands.

“C-Can I give my statement later?” Sora couldn’t look at the concerned officers who shared a glance.

“Sure… uh… leave us some contact information…”

* * *

It was night when Sora and Sawada stepped out of the station. A constant stream of people traveled to and from the adjacent square, clamoring for its iconic spoils. But with the lights as neon and piercing, as they were, Sora couldn’t help but feel the echoes of _that_ night again and again. The emotions were dull though, as though his body simply accepted the oppressive anxiety as the new baseline stress. 

Sora was spent, trailing behind Sawada’s voiceless charge into the public. It was almost like something was broken. Pistons failed to fire. His thoughts were slow like a horseless carriage. His movements were hindered by blooming bruises and exhaustion. This was too hard to process. 

Sawada appeared to be suffering in a similar matter. Tired. Struggling to process. Overwhelmed… The sympathy-- no empathy so charitably given was something Sora couldn’t name a price for. Sawada was irreplaceable. Getting help, following after him, his comforting presence. When Sora was in times of trouble, he could always turn to his friends to keep him strong. And Sawada was just a reminder of that driving philosophy.

His friend was hunched forward, walking so deliberately through the flow of traffic to the train station that he stretched Sora’s following distance by a substantial length. And in his desire to think easy thoughts, Sora gravitated to how similar this picture was to their first meeting. Sawada started everything when he chose to follow him, just like Sora was doing now.

Then Sawada drew to a stop. The slight tap of his shoe clapping the concrete as though he had placed the period at the end of this sentence. They were rocks in the river of strangers and the 104 building was the sun shimmering along the surface.

He pulled a small folded piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it at his waist.

A slow, shuddering breath escaped Sawada along with the slack of his shoulders. 

“When were you going to tell me?”

Sawada’s voice was thick, barely a croak. The paper from the station in his other hand slowly expanded at his side from his crumpled grip. 

The pistons didn’t want to fire, but the words registered under the stained glass. Like a sharp stone pressing and pressing hard against the melted sand, eroding the fragile bond. It was a cruel twist.

“What?” Sora’s jaw was shaking. 

A sharp inhale. The paper constricted under claws. 

“You’ve been laughing too. Haven’t you?” His voice broke and Sora saw his free hand rise to rub down his face momentarily.

Desperation snaked through Sora’s body, reviving his restlessly tired heart. “No, Sawada I…”

“--You can stop now, Sora!”

Sora shrank back at his forceful interruption. He turned to face him, face streaming with tears. A twisted pout on his lip, tinged with the deep bitterness beneath his tongue. 

“...or, I guess it’s _Kosuke_.”

It was a greater gut-punch than the real one from hours before. “You… you don’t believe that.” The betrayal and conviction on his face said otherwise. Sora struggled to find the words, air packaged into tiny, breathless sobs, looking for the right defense. “I’m… I’m _Sora_.”

A hot tear fell down his cheek. Sawada gritted his teeth in pain at the sight.

“I wanted you to be him.” Sawada shook his head at a flow of memories. “I wanted _something_ to happen. I wanted it so… _so_ much.” A whine oozed with the confession. 

Sora grabbed at his chest while his friend swelled with the emotional seas of self-hatred.

“I’m so stupid,” He cried. “Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. You look like him and sound like him and know everything about him but _Sora isn’t real_.”

“I _am!”_

“No!” Sawada barked with frantic self-preservation. “You’re done. Just stop. _Stop!_ ”

“It’s got to be a misunderstanding!” Sora leaped with his own panic. It was crumbling right in front of him. “Please, Sawada!”

“Like hell!” Sawada took a step further. “You think it’s just one stupid article with million and one coincidences but you’re _wrong_. You are wrong and you know it. Sora doesn’t hide, or cry, or run away. He doesn’t run around feeling sorry for himself. You’re--” 

Sawada choked-- his volume out of control and the public display beyond salvageable. 

“You’re two-faced.”

The chains were strangling Sora. He couldn’t move.

Sawada threw down the damning article onto the sidewalk, now in a tight ball. Then he regarded the folded paper in his other hand, the one he produced from his pocket. It was a photograph. 

In a stomach-twisting fit, Sawada grabbed the photograph with two hands and ripped in half along the folded edges. The pieces fell to the ground.

“You should visit that family...” Sawada croaked, looking despondently at the photo he vengefully destroyed.

And then he turned around.

The earth was vanishing beneath him. The fear of falling pulled him as he clung to the stars to keep him afloat. 

No

You’re wrong.

I’m here

I exist.

I’m Sora

I’m not fake.

I’m not **_c r a zy_ **

I’d never do that to you.

Sawada.

I’M REAL

I’m SORA

I’d never hurt you

Please

P l e a s e

“Sawada!” Sora cried out, unconsciously reaching forward. He was slipping away. 

“I’m… I’m…” He couldn’t raise his voice. His words couldn’t reach him. 

Sora was powerless as Sawada’s back was swallowed by the crowd of people.

“Sawada!” He cried again, ignoring the protest of his body and stepping forward in pursuit. But he caught his shoes on the asphalt and went careening into the earth in a glorious stumble. He felt a small scrape from the concrete rub against his palms. Little stings to accompany the bruises, the split lip, the cut on his brow.

Brushing against his fingers was the tickle of the papers Sawada abandoned. One half of the photograph. He picked it up and let the neon lights around him illuminate the contents

Sora observed his own face in the photo, smiling with a man he didn’t recognize whose appearance was mangled by the rip. An impossible image.

It was just like... 

_Will you be okay?_

That night his world was demolished. When his reality caved in. When he laid eyes on his own face and the precious wall of pure ignorant ivory broke into a million pieces. 

Then, while he was collapsed on the crowded streets of Shibuya, someone ran a spear through Sora’s head for the third time.

It didn’t really hurt.

-X.....Continue?-  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who'd of known ivory was so breakable.
> 
> Arc finale is the next chapter.


	20. Execution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the extended patience. I had to slave to get this chapter just right and I had to add a little extra something last minute. I'm going on a slight research break after this, just as a warning, but I really want to thank everyone for the comments on the last chapter. This story means so much to me and the fact that it impacts you enough to leave me a message makes the writing process completely gratifying.
> 
> The chapter cuts around a little bit so thank you for the patience with the scene breaks. I'm rather intentional with the symbolism in my metaphors and setting. I challenge you to interpret them however you can.
> 
> Without further ado, the 7k arc finale I've been working a year to produce.

_“‘On April 17th at 21:47, a vehicle containing a 42-year-old woman, her son (12) and daughter (6) overturned at the collision of a temporary traffic median on the southbound intersection of 23-chome.’”_

What started as a nosey student council student’s attempt at being right had morphed into something else entirely. The elder Kakehashi’s pleading voice, muffled by the receiver, was a recent memory to Inoue. She toggled the scroll icon on her laptop. The document sent to her was the real, watermarked record from the Tokyo Police Department archives. Inoue was shaking as she read.

_“‘The woman and her daughter surrendered to their injuries on the scene. The son is currently in critical condition at a nearby hospital.’”_

* * *

An alarm didn’t wake Sora the next morning. He hung his heavy head forward as the vestiges of sleep dripped away. He blinked away the gunky bleariness around his salt-encrusted eyes. 

Dry aches throbbed around his face and bruises knocked. It was like a truck had hit him. So it must have been habit alone sparking his motions now. 

* * *

_“The resulting crash collided with 2 other drivers who sustained minor injuries only. Police are investigating traffic footage for more information on the cause of the collision and will update the report as necessary.”_

* * *

Sora hesitated at his closet. His school blazer in tatters, thrown haphazardly on the floor of his plain room. After a dull moment, he buttoned up his summer uniform. It was 2 weeks before the official uniform switch at Soroku. A gleam of metal caught his eye.

An abandoned crown stared back.

* * *

_“April 17th, 23:22 update: Police accounts indicate that the 12-year-old son of the driver was resuscitated by Station 4 Chief Yamauchi before being airlifted to the hospital.”_

* * *

The aches and pains were more than skin deep. The reflection looking back at Sora from the bathroom mirror sported the dehydrated dark circles under his impossibly blue eyes. His cheek swelled from the sucker-punch to the face. The open welt at his forehead was from his fall off the fence. He remembered the _crack_ his head made bouncing on the concrete.

The pain from the assault had dulled in his memory, but lingering still was the feeling of powerlessness. A grounding sensation. 

* * *

_“April 18th, 5:00 update: The surviving victim, a child from Meidaimae prefecture has been declared stable, but is currently non-responsive.”_

* * *

'RESURRECTED TEEN WAKES FROM 3 YEAR COMA'

Sora leaned over the sink. The picture from the article. Himself, garbed in a hospital gown staring at the camera, appearing slightly uncomfortable with the spotlight. He could see it, burned into his brain. 

He raised his hand to his face, moved by a nameless curiosity. The bruise stung at his prodding contact. It hurt more when he pulled the skin. Fascination tickled the outskirts of his conscious thought as his blue, blue eye bulged at the motion.

* * *

“ _April 20th, 17:00 update: Autopsy reports rule out any form of substance abuse from the driver.”_

* * *

It wasn’t right. That shade of blue. That hair. How was it wrong? What side of the equation was incorrect?

Sora slid his hand to his brown spikes. His fingers eased through the strands at the root. Soft. It felt nice. He ran the length of his scalp with the motion, brushing along each of the locks. They sprang back up stubbornly like blades of grass.

He found his grip tighten as he dragged his hand away from his hair, pulling some locks flat against their nature.

* * *

_“April 28th, 20:00 update: Hospital confirms the son’s movement from the ICU to a long term care facility where he will remain until condition improves.”_

* * *

He blinked with far too much awareness. Unsettling. Staring at his face and for a genuine moment not being sure it was actually his. 

He closed them on purpose this time. The self-imposed darkness removed the problem.

* * *

_“All names and identifying details have been omitted at the request of the victims’ surviving family…”_

Inoue leaned back in her chair, the finished report illuminating her dark bedroom in a pale blue light. Shame followed the brief wave of denial. Earlier that day she had chastised an honestly troubled teenager after trying to sting him with a misdemeanor. His father’s pained voice from her phone call knocked at her memory again. 

_“Please.”_ He had begged. _“I just want to see my son again. I want him back.”_

She always wanted to do the right thing. Her father was an attorney, touting philosophies of justice to his bright young daughter. She was enamored by the call. She succeeded in the name of those pure promises. She strived to make him proud.

That got so much harder along the way.

Inoue picked up her phone and selected ‘re-dial’. 

[click]

“Hello, Kakehashi-san. I’m sorry for the delay… I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

______________________________

____________________

__________

The article was released online early that morning. And while career writers could only describe it as journalistic fluff, it was a narrative chastising the hypocrisy of the establishment and calling into question the impact of the elite reputation that the students felt pride in sustaining. Rousing anger in local fairness fighters and overly concerned moms alike, it reached the audience it wanted.

Of course, Principal Nishikawa’s statement was on display, framed as haphazard and reactionary. While Sora wasn’t named, the punishing remedy with his midterm scores was all the fodder to make the student body victoriously indignant and self-righteously outraged at the same time.

“Hey, Kakehashi-kun~ need a tutor?”

“Wanna take my place in cram-school?”

Sora didn’t look at them. He wouldn’t engage. He’d never engage.

“ _So quiet_ , Trust-Fund.” Yoshida pushed himself into Sora's sight. It distorted his posture as Sora was seated at his desk, hands clasped together simply waiting for the bell to start and the scene to start. It was a ridiculous and childish-looking move that unfortunately no one would ridicule. 

Yoshida wanted a response that Sora refused to give. The beat of silence was broken with an immature scoff. He wanted a confrontation. He wanted to watch him squirm.

“So does this officially mean the transfer-student stories were a load of crap?”

Sora sucked in a tight breath. Yes. Yes, it did. It was a low blow that Yoshida caught wind of. 

_“Knew it.”_

He didn’t seem obstructed by the one-man dialogue transpiring. Sora’s jaw was clamped shut.

“I’m disappointed that the reporter didn’t find out the ‘why’-- that’s some shady shit you know.”

He sat on Sora’s desk, looking down on him, while several of his friends watched from a distance. 

“So what is it? You the son of some big-shot crime lord? Needed a quick relocation after a hit gone wrong?” He laughed exaggeratedly at his fantastical suggestion. Sora felt the heat rise. Why was he here? What was the point? Why did he put up with this?

  
  


Enter Sawada.

They locked eyes. The habit to recognize and welcome and gravitate was intercepted by a dredge of recent words and memories.

_‘You’re wrong and you know it.’_

Sawada tore himself away first. Eyes wide and stunned with fresh wounds. He’d find his seat with robotic rigidness. He’d leave Sora to look at his back, warmed by the burn of shame on his immobile, frustrated face.

The sensation locked Sora into place. It grabbed his shoulders and compacted him tight to his own spine. 

And Yoshida kept talking. Insults gracing his one-sided jeers like papercuts. Laughing and scowling and mocking. Conversing with his allies. Speaking directly to Sora’s deaf ears. But nothing could weasel its way through. Not while Sawada’s back remained motionless.

He was an object. A prop in a sick, meaningless show. Where was the curtain? 

Who was watching.

* * *

_Tap Tap Tap_

The stairwell was becoming an old friend now. When he first scaled the steps, it was possessed by foolish whimsy. Reaching for sanctuary. A countdown to disappointment.

Inoue’s back bobbed up and down and back and forth during the particular climb. Her hair swayed. He met her in this same stairwell when his attempts for relief were met with rejection. Didn’t she know? Why did she ask him to follow?

She reached for the locked door to the roof. For some reason, Sora just wanted to watch. He wanted to see the door reject her. The silence would linger and the destination would have to change. The awkwardness would occupy an empty space. 

But there was a light click and the knob turned against all expectations. The empty school roof stretched ahead before cutting deep into the horizon with a chain-link fence.

Funny. 

The privilege to see the sky was reserved for a small few.

“What did you need to talk about?” Sora asked, stepping into a torrent of circulating air. It was a grey, overcast day. The wind was blowing in a rainy front. All the while, the building units moaned a loud drone. It wasn’t pleasant.

Inoue gathered herself by the nearest fence. Below, the buzz of traffic knocked. How they took for granted the thickness of their windows in its chaos. She avoided his gaze by peering over her shoulder, a contemplative look on her face. “Do you trust me?”

A strange thing to ask with an even stranger answer. _Did_ he trust her? He said he did. He had faith in her. He believed her innocence. He confided his problems to her.

He had also trusted Sawada.

A numb bile of dread started to move. Sora mindlessly pawed the fence between his fingers. They cut the same as yesterday. She sat on the concrete ledge just before those metal guardrails while he simply stood.

“Yes,” Sora said, but he wasn’t sure anymore. He wasn’t sure of anything.

She accepted his answer with a small, but pained smile. Disappointed, but not surprised. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Kakehashi-kun. And I’d like to come clean.”

The bile stirred. Sawada wasn’t enough it seemed.

“The truth is; I’ve been helping you, not because of the school’s reputation… or because you needed me. But because I’m trying to help someone _else_.”

He never questioned her motives. Even now, it didn’t seem relevant when her actions spoke so much louder. Perhaps it was naivety… but Sora didn’t feel much at the admission. He didn’t know who to feel. Meanwhile, Inoue rubbed at the hem of her uniform skirt. She was flustered all of a sudden. Red-faced and defensive. 

“And when they asked me to help them, I couldn’t say no. They were hurting. I _made_ it my business…”

_‘You looked like you needed help. I made it my business.’_

Yeah. He knew how it felt. It drove his every step. It was like helping people and doing good was the entire point of his existence.

_“Reality check, kid. You’re no fucking hero.”_

Sora didn’t respond. His eyes wandered around the pale grey concrete of the barren rooftop in want of a target. There was a lick of graffiti by Inoue’s leg. A name and a heart was written in faded marker by a previous rooftop visitor. A childish mark of young love or a mournful tribute?

“But I don’t want you to think I was working _against_ you. I kept this from you at his request. I… _We…_ wanted to help you too.”

The discomfort was a slow-moving tilt. Too slight to notice, but too late to correct when he eventually did. The question finally came…gnawing and disturbing. Sora registered a shift in perspective. A presence in the conversation. A new area, loaded. 

“Who?”

Inoue palmed her phone from her pocket. She pulled up an app.

“Sawada showed you a picture yesterday, right?”

The ripped pieces burned in Sora’s pocket. He went cold, a hand hovered where his answer lied. Inoue flashed her phone in his direction before he could bring it out.

There was his face again, young and bright-eyed. He was smiling next to a jovial middle-aged man. Beside him was a beautiful woman with a small girl balanced on her lap. The family photo, untarnished.

“I gave it to him. And it was given to me by the man sitting next to you in it.”

That was enough to crack whatever shell of protection Sora placed around himself. That confusion. That sickening dread. That blustering, desperate rejection. He landed dead in the center of that storm. Sora grimaced in the swell of nausea. Inoue noticed, but pushed through anyway.

“And he would like to finally meet you.”

_< It’s time we met.>_

* * *

The students scurried out the school building in little clumps. Scampering together under umbrellas or dashing under the protection of their school bags, the cloudy sky having finally exhausted its restraint. It filled the world with a constant roar, muffling their exasperated complaints and dramatic exclamations with rushing traffic and a smattering downpour. Pitiless was the flow of adult civilians across the street, going about their uncomfortable rainy-day commute with rolled eyes at the student exodus. 

Water weighed down the world. Splashing into shoes and seeping up pants and socks. The sensation of warmth was a mere dream to the unlucky and unprepared. At least, that's what the passerby's thought when looking at one lone bystander standing in the rain. 

Waiting. Watching.

Satou peeled herself off the brick wall, irritated brown eyes fixed on every distantly passing face, searching. She tugged at the hood of her dripping jacket while the students milled in the heavy traffic flow of their own, helpless to the elements. 

The speeding cars created the wall. A wall of sound that smothered her into a seething silence.

She found herself glaring daggers into it. Patience was a virtue she had long grown out of love with. 

That’s when the bob of a ponytail and a spike of brown caught her eyes. Kakehashi Sora and Inoue Ami pushed through their fellow classmates toward a northern bus stop. Inoue attempted to shield Sora under her black umbrella, though half-heartedly. Perhaps for fear of giving the wrong idea to observing students. But even so, he trailed behind, an unspeakably troubled expression on his face as he grew heavier and heavier with the rain. 

He was the only kid wearing his summer uniform. It must have been cold.

Inoue would push him in her direction with an insistent tug on the arm. She juggled between an umbrella, her school bag and her phone, which was diligently outstretched for a seamless presentation of directions. She was taking him somewhere.

Satou felt her palms slowly constrict inward. 

Her feet kicked off the sidewalk as she followed the pair in tight step. Hands still grasping the air firmly in her pockets, as if to restrain them. She’d hover behind as they waited at a bus stop and scurry onto the transport after them.

Satou didn’t remove her hood as she sat herself in earshot. A useless move as tense silence lingered between the two ‘friends’ for a majority of the commute save a few moments.

“Where are we going?” Sora’s question had no life. It was such a stark difference to the expectation that it could stir hearts..

“ _Meidaimae.”_ Inoue was nervous. Always guilty.

Satou’s phone sparked into an upbeat ringtone, smashing the reverie of the quiet bus ride. 

She was startled into a scramble to silence it, but in the process, she picked it up. The voice on the receiver could be heard from a short distance from her ear.

 _“I don’t deserve this Hana-chan! The boss is grilling_ me _for answers! Where are you right now?”_

Satou crumpled at the lost invisibility but resisted the urge to turn around and look at her targets. 

“I-I’m sorry Mami-chan!” She answered in a hush, cupping the phone to her face. 

_“I don’t need a sorry, there’s a weekend rush incoming and he’s a tyrant right now!”_

Satou didn’t need this right now. Her friend’s boisterous voice was ruining her operation. Patience once again, having grown cold within her. 

“ _What do you even want me to tell him?”_

The bus suddenly groaned around Satou. The windows depicted a light suburban setting drenched like a cleaning rag. It smeared across their view, inching to a crawl.

“This is our stop,” Inoue said behind her. 

Satou felt her heart jump. The nearby prefecture was unfamiliar in a way that spiked alarms. The possibilities spun ominously in her head as Inoue and Sora passed her spot in the train.

“ _Well?”_

Satou stood up after them, Mami’s insistence like a hot iron prod. 

“Tell him…” Satou’s gaze kept following the pair. Following Sora. She stepped out into the rain as her targets plowed the short distance towards the well-off suburban homes.

“...It’s a family emergency.”

Satou hung up. Unsettled and frozen in the pouring rain. A foreboding itch she should have felt the day before. She pocketed her own phone and pulled out another. 

The thieving waitress began writing her message on Sora's stolen phone, in between frantic glances into the rainy afternoon. Sora’s back inching closer and closer to a certain moment of reckoning. 

* * *

Sora didn’t know what he expected. The house was pristine. A western 2-story, middle-class abode, ready for the housing catalog photoshoot with its manicured lawn. The entire commute getting to this moment felt like a sluggish dream, a full whiteout with a lone rope tether pulling him into the void. The idyllic image didn’t do much to dissuade that sensation. 

She pushed open the gate and lightly pulled his hesitating form to the front door.

“Before we meet him…” Inoue started, collapsing her umbrella in the protection of the entrance overhang. She forced a smile through the wealth of uncertainty. “I want you to know that--”

But the door opened, cutting her off.

“Miss Inoue? 

The man from the picture. Middle-aged, plain, dark hair and eyes. He was dressed in a loose white button-up, collar askew from a recently removed tie. He hung in the doorway leaning against the doorknob, first locking onto Inoue with his recognition before landing on her companion.

“Hello, Kakehashi-san.”

Sora turned to face her instinctually at his name. But she was looking ahead at the owner of the house with a tense jaw and trembling eyes. Hesitantly, Sora flickered back to the man at the door.

The man’s eyes were wide and shimmering, unblinking. His mouth loosely hanging, his grip on the open doorknob sliding. Sora saw his shoulders shaking with shallow breaths. He heard the small guttural sounds unconsciously escape his throat as he stared at him.

As he stared right into him.

“Is that you? Kosuke?”

Sora took a step back.

The man flinched in recognition, tearing himself away before gathering himself. A humorless huff. “No, no I understand… _Sora?”_

His gut twisted. The man seemed pained to say it, holding his gaze for only a moment of strength.

“Thank you for coming… for bringing him, Miss Inoue.” He had such a soft voice, choking on thick chords. He leaned away from his door. “Please, come inside. There’s a lot to talk about.”

Sora found Inoue looking at him with an unreadable expression. He felt anchored to the porch, but with her curt nod, the weight was released in a nauseating instant. Sora followed.

* * *

“I had lost track of time,” ‘Kakehashi’ said, returning from a nearby room. They sat in a finely furnished sitting room, the couch yielding to their weight with stiff submission. “There’s water boiling for tea, it’ll take a moment.”

Sora didn’t look around the house deliberately, but a single glimpse of the object on the coffee table made that instinct harder to ignore. A picture frame, draped in a white cotton cloth.

There were at least 3 more frames in the room covered the same way.

“I have to apologize for my greeting… Sora. I hope you’ll understand.”

Kakehashi sat down across from him, hands resting upon his lap. He was much more composed now, a stoic calm among his facial features before a concentrated frown of courage pushed him to continue speaking.

“Do you… recognize me?”

Sora felt like a hostage. This perfectly normal, calm man, trembling before him ever so slightly. Unassuming, with a polite manner of speaking and a certain gentleness to his gaze. But Sora’s heart was racing.

“No, sir.” A slight shake of his head that threatened to tip him over. 

His earnest patience softened. “I figured as much.”

Inoue clenched the hem of her skirt. “But you know who he is, right?” 

She didn’t look at him. It forced him to speak up in a wavering voice. “Yes.”

Sora was mentally clearing away the muddy emotions gunking his still form. Like fighting through the torrent of an undertow. A spiral to the bottom. The gasp for air. Looking at this stranger he registered the entirety of the situation. 

His benefactor. His friend. The person behind anonymous messages who smuggled him into a school with a pretty check signed as his ‘father’. 

The stranger in an impossible photo. His namesake. 

“ _Kosuke_.”

Sora flinched. He looked away.

Anon’s voice lost composure. Weeping desperation in a grown man. Deeply unsettling. Something in Sora’s acknowledgment of him had taunted the man's impossible dream.

“Kosuke, it’s me.”

No. The pattern of the rug swirled in senseless ways. Rustic colors. There wasn't a scrape on the hardwood floor to fall into.

“It’s ... _Dad_.” Hopeful smiles, choked with tears.

No. He shook his head. His vision blurred. The pressure in his head was suddenly very present like a war drum. A hand went to his temple to nurse the pain. 

“Kosuke-- _son--_ I can explain everything.”

“Please, _Kosuke-kun_ …”

Sora.

SORA

SORA 

SORA

SORA

Sora slammed his teeth together. His body was moving on its own. Chords snapping tight in his throat while his hands crashed onto the coffee table of the perfect, empty house.

**_“WHO THE HELL IS KOSUKE!?”_ **

Sora wasn’t breathing. A ringing in his ears. Unable to stop his shaking. Inoue and Anon’s eyes on him. Afraid. Perfect strangers. He registered the hot tears dripping down his face. His body ached, longing for air.

****

There was a screaming whistle from a distant room.

****

Anon collapsed from his frozen shock. Scrambling from the chair in the thick air. He made his exit to tend to the screaming tea-pot over the open flame. Leaving the question to ring around the room. ****

Inoue was looking up at Sora’s frozen form, her mouth trembling. “I’m so sorry.” He could barely hear her. He straightened up and tried to breathe. The apologies kept coming from his friend. And each one dug into him deeper and deeper. ****

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me.” Sora heard himself tell her. ****

“There’s a reason. We’ll explain. Just… take a deep breath. You need to calm down.”

****

Calm down? 

****

This girl. This _friend_. Sawada’s betrayal didn’t make Inoue’s any better. ****

“You still think I’m crazy.” She never told him otherwise. Her offered branch of friendship had nothing to do with his claims. Hindsight dragged him through a poisonous brand of regret. The kind of uncontrollable regret that slithered through your body when you fell from the fabric of existence. Trusting, sacrificing, smiling, fighting-- it was second nature. Guilty breathing. ****

“No-- I…” Inoue was pained, spluttering at the accusation. “You need _help_.”

****

Sora couldn’t say anything to that. Another track of salt was paved onto his cheeks as his heart squeezed tighter. ****

“Please, don’t blame Miss Inoue.” Anon appeared from his kitchen with two steaming mugs. “She’s only been following my requests.” ****

The cups were set in front of their places. Sora didn’t move to greet the courtesy as the owner of the home sat back down. ****

“I couldn’t just force the truth on you. I know better now.” ****

Anon grabbed a photograph from the side table, uncovering the cloth shroud. It was that family picture once again. That uncanny, impossible, offensive thing. ****

“I lost you more times than any father should because I was impatient and inconsiderate.” ****

Something in Sora felt that pain in the older man’s voice and compounded the damage unconsciously. It was his curse and it weakened his anger and confusion. The helplessness was like a cup of agony.

****

“Who is he?” 

The boy that looked like him. The name everyone kept calling him. But Sora knew the answer Anon would voice. It was clear as day what this entire meeting was. An intervention. An unfolding conspiracy. His benefactor rubbed the picture frame with his thumb, shaking, gathering strength.

“He’s you. You’re my son, Kakehashi Kosuke.”

Lies. “ _But I’m--_ ”

“-- ’Sora’. I know. But-- but that’s not true.” 

Someone had finally said it. The most direct response to the walls around his understanding of the situation. The greatest defense he had to this misunderstanding was finally defiled. Or at least, the attempt was being made.

“Please, make yourself comfortable-- drink. It’s a long story.”

Inoue grabbed the steaming mug with two hands warmed by the tea. She gave Sora a pleading look that cut through the taint of betrayal he felt. Hesitantly, he sat back down. And while the silence persisted and insisted around them, he grabbed the offered courtesy. Just one touch made it clear how cold Sora’s hands were. 

With a guarded expression, he unlocked his aching and set jaw and took a sip from the warm tea. The physical sensations from the drink clashed with the mental torment. It was grounding. 

Satisfied in a somber way, Anon took a deep breath and explained.

“Three years ago, my wife and two children were caught in a horrible car accident. A car ahead swerved suddenly and sent her crashing into a median. Her car overturned. She and our youngest died on the scene.”

Sora swallowed at the senseless tragedy. Anon appeared shaken at the recounted story, but he continued.

“You were there too, in the passenger’s seat. The impact put your body in shock. You didn’t have a pulse when the emergency services arrived, but you were the first they got out of the car.”

Inoue was wringing her hands, having already heard the story but failing to hold back the sympathetic tears. Anon choked a relieved smile at the precursing thought.

“But they brought you back. They called it a miracle. Anna and Mayu-chan were gone, but at least you were alive.”

The woman and young girl in the family picture stared at their father through the glass. Perfectly unreachable. He grabbed the picture tighter.

“You wouldn’t wake up though. A coma.” There was a shuddering sigh. “We buried your little sister and mother and not long after, I moved you to a long term care facility. After losing everything. All I could do was hope that you would open your eyes.”

Sora’s eyes were burning. Dripping hot tears from an unbearable pressure around his face. Hotter than the cup in his hands.

“I waited. I cared for your body. I’d read to you your favorite books. I’d watch your favorite movies in your room. I’m...not that good at video games like you, but I tried surrounding you with that fun. The fun you were missing out on.

“So it felt like my waiting paid off when you were showing signs of improvement. Almost three years had passed, and there were more than a few times the doctors cited a hopeless cause. But finally… Finally, you opened your eyes.”

He seemed lost in a more pleasant memory. Savoring the sweetness before the inevitable sour.

“But…” A dark comedy. A bitter parade. “You didn’t remember anything. The doctor’s warned me that there might be damage like that, but if I could believe that your eyes would open, I could believe that you’d smile at your dad too.

“It was amnesia, but it wasn’t long during your physical recovery that something deeply unsettling became apparent.” He placed the picture frame back on the side table with a grimace. His posture changed, shifting the energy of the room that was consumed by his story.

“Would you, perhaps, follow me?” Kakehashi asked, rising from his chair.

It was a break in the onslaught of information. An intermission. 

Sora joined him in standing silently. This story, this tragedy, and heartache woven into his mind strained against his heart at the sudden movement. This home was Kosuke’s. These rooms were the comfort of a broken man. He had yet to piece himself into the picture. 

They followed him to the stairwell, each step of Sora’s protesting with a wobbling threat. He didn’t want to move. His stomach turned as they made their way to the second story bedrooms. Passing covered picture after covered picture. A memorial. A statement.

If you were the only one to have those memories, were they even real?

The landing was small, but Anon pushed open an already ajar room at the mouth of the stairs.

“Kosuke’s room.” He said as they walked in. “ _Your_ room.”

It… looked a lot like Sawada’s. Maybe brighter. Posters of characters and cartoons. Figures on the dresser. Bookshelves stuffed with mangas and DVDs. A bed, crumpled and unmade, like it was just a forgotten chore from that morning. There was a TV in the corner, turned on, muted and flashing some colorful and animated program.

Of course, one of the images on the wall caught his eye without fail, _always_ without fail. His illustrated likeness standing alongside Donald and Goofy.

“I wanted it ready for him. If he were to ever come back to me. If _you_ were to ever come back home.”

Inoue shifted uncomfortably in her own sympathy. Sora was having too much trouble feeling present to squirm. Anon nostalgically placed a hand on the dresser where a figure rested. The polished wood squeaked at his bitter caress.

“You were always an eager, passionate kid. You were theatrical and silly. You made friends easily even when you found yourself hyper-focused on a special interest. Some people called them destructive obsessions, but… I like to think you just had a lot of love to give.”

Sora reached for a figure on the bedside table. A guardian angel to the 12-year old boy who called it home. Himself. Sora. Painted in his black adventure clothes, he posed heroically at the various articulation joints.

“But when you woke up from your coma. When you couldn’t remember who you were. You started thinking you were someone else. You insisted on everyone calling you _‘Sora’_.”

Anon had a grimace. Something sheepish and uncertain, out of his element. Embarrassed and confused. “I knew that was a character in one of your favorite games… I knew next to nothing else at the time. But you really, truly believed you were this character. That somehow you were... _trapped_ in a strange world and couldn’t get out.”

The benefactor’s voice was rising in pitch, strung tight by a fresher tragedy. He gathered deep breaths, willing the thickness to leave his voice to little avail. 

“The doctor’s called it Dissociative Fugue. In the absence of identity, you adopted a different one. You wouldn’t listen to me or your grandparents. You would grow frustrated during rehabilitation and throw fits, spouting nonsense about ‘ _keys_ ’ and ‘ _worlds_ ’ and ‘ _Riku’s_ ’ and ‘ _Kairi’s_ ’. It was painful to watch. Like losing my son all over again.”

The action figure bore grooves into Sora’s hand. The room felt like it was undulating under his feet.

“It got so hard that one day I just snapped. I ignored the gentle directions of your doctors and tried to get you to see the truth. I wanted my son back. I needed you to get your memories back. The right ones...

“But the effects were so drastic. You collapsed on the spot. Convulsing, unresponsive. I thought you...I thought you were dying right in front of me.”

The older man suddenly choked back a sob with his hand flying to his mouth. Instinctually Inoue moved to his side and it seemed to give him permission to sob again. Sora, on the other hand, wanted to vomit. His stomach flip-flopped back and forth. Sweat pooled along his brow. He didn’t know how he was standing.

“It was a seizure.” He managed between his crumbling composure. “And when you woke from that… It was like pressing the ‘reset’ button. Any progress we had made was lost… nothing left but 'Sora'. Again and again.”

Sora felt his vision start to blur. He couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not. The posters on the wall that had his face were staring. He could feel his heart pounding.

“It kept happening. And you kept losing your youth to this sickness. I… I had to do something. I was willing to do _anything_.”

_ <Are you lost Little King?> _

  
  


_ <You’ll find the key to your apartment under the doormat.> _

_ <The school is called ‘Soroku High’> _

_ <You needed a surname: Kakehashi --it’s written with the characters…> _

_ <You can make friends there.> _

Sora couldn’t breathe. There were spots blooming in his paralyzed sight.

“I wanted Kosuke back, but I had to comfort _‘Sora’_. I had to welcome his story in order to find Kosuke a way back. In order to prevent the seizures from tearing his mind apart.”

His heart. Slamming against his rib cage. Rattling his bones, flicking off the sweat from his brow, tossing his stomach around, shaking his hands. How was he standing?

“But you’re all I have left in this world Kosuke. Maybe, your Papa’s still as impatient as ever.”

The room was spinning. Swaying. Tossing. Trembling. It didn’t feel real. (Stop) He didn’t feel there. He couldn’t breathe. Pain blossomed in his suffocating lungs as his heartbeat and beat and beat (stop) and beat and beat and beat and

Stop

He whimpered. The two people in the room danced in his vision that blurred… from the tears?

“K-Kakehashi-kun?”

Sora took a step towards Anon and the ground turned to putty. Posters and shelves and TV’s flung around the room before the _crack_ of his head hitting the hardwood put it to a halt. 

”Kosuke!”

“Kakehashi-kun!”

There was panic around him. In the voices. In the air. On the colorful TV. Within him. Blistering, overwhelming, mortal panic. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. It hurt. Everything was shaking.

“What’s happening!?” Inoue cried.

“Nonononono… _please no_ ” The man’s voice wallowed. “It’s the seizure. H-Hold his head-- No, a pillow. Put _uh…_ put this in his mouth. I’ll call the ambulance!”

There was scrambling around the spinning room. Something cushiony being shoved down his throat. The thundering stumble of a grown man tearing down the stairs. A crying girl.

And Sora.

Sora felt a certain death.

_“Kakehashi-kun!”_

* * *

_ >Help me< _

Sawada assessed the house before him against his better judgment. Rooted at the gate where the address took him. The text message from the liar himself pulling him to this terrifying spot. A perfect home. A perfect rod-iron gate. A perfect mini-lawn. In a perfect neighborhood.

Broken by the front door flying open. An older man came stumbling out, phone to his ear.

“ _Kakehashi-kun!”_

Inoue’s voice.

Sawada was moving, throwing open the gate, pushing past the man, reaching for the open door.

Sora.

He didn’t have time to ask himself why. He didn’t consider the wounds of his heart or the logic of his actions. 

The sky was falling. 

Kairi’s tears as he faded hand in hand. 

Riku’s faith as he yielded back in the dust of a graveyard. 

They… were everything to him. He loved them. He existed because of them. He would always and forever be a set. Belonging. Meaningful. Purposed. 

**[x]**

Freefalling. A ship that lost its mooring. Stranded at sea.

As Sora convulsed on the floor of Kakehashi Kosuke’s bedroom, he felt his life flash before his eyes. The adventures. The triumphs and defeats. The enemies and friends. The worlds and possibilities. The magic. The love. The light. It was everything. It was beautiful.

And it was nothing.

Inoue exclaimed at Sawada’s sudden presence. They encircled him with panic in their voices all while Sora’s world collapsed. Memories weren’t fading. Darkness wasn’t consuming. No. He was simply cut off. The magnetic gravity of waking up. Reality slicing off his clinging grasp, one finger at a time.

He was going to fall. Covered in ink and wax, he was going to crash to the earth and never dream of flying again. Possibilities. Potential. Every fantastical desire he could conjure was going to be locked away, like the door to a suicide hotspot. And in that freefall, he’d be alone. So impossibly alone. 

Sora’s eyes were glazed. Tears oozing down his immobile face. Head propped on someone’s lap. The judgemental eyes of the posters, of the stories, the worlds surrounding him. The room only moved along with his trembling. But within that frame was the colorful lights dancing on the muted TV. Blues and teals and greens.

_Sora_

Doubt entered the heart. The kill shot. The stained glass bleeding sand. Dissolving into nothing. Into the black where he’d float. 

Alone.

So impossibly alone.

Without even a reflection in a mirror-like world.

And he’d remain there. Never to touch another heart. Removed from the equation. Nonexistent. Nothing. 

Nothing at all.

Because...

Sora wasn’t real.

Kosuke spasmed to life, regaining his motor skills. Panic shoveling mouthfuls of hopeless, crying air. His arms lashed out, claws digging into Sawada’s arms. His other hand scratched into Inoue’s shoulder till she too was crying.

Desperation.

 **_“Don’t leave me alone!”_ **Kosuke sobbed.

Inoue and Sawada grabbed his clamoring hands in too-tight grips. Fear weighed them down as Kosuke screamed his agony. His mourning. Wails of grief. 

“We’re not leaving.” Sawada cried.

“We’re here for you.” Inoue put her forehead to the hand in hers, praying for it to pass. 

Kosuke clung to them for dear life, eyes still fixed ahead. Unable to tear himself away from the TV’s screen. Images incoherent to him. They were swirls of colors and slow-to-define shapes that sharpened little by little with the weakening of his screams.

_Please_

The window.

P L E A S E

  
  


**_[ t a k e m e w i t h y o u ]_ **

Inoue watched as Kosuke’s eyes rolled back into his head. His dead weight slamming into her.

Sawada looked at her in alarm, the air between them suddenly absent of his screams. But it was only a moment as his chin suddenly swiveled forward. 

“Huh?” Sawada’s eyes were drooping. He swayed. “Wha… What’s…” He couldn’t sit up straight. He couldn’t form words. His head felt like a lead weight. He was… sleepy.

Sawada’s face crashed into Kosuke’s body. Eyes closed. Gone to the world.

“What?” Inoue moaned, but her vision crossed. The sensation crashed into her like a truck slamming hard and pressing down. Or was it the opposite? Sleep entered her limbs and she fell back into the bedside table.

And the last thing she could remember seeing was a blur of deep blues and cyan.

* * *

It looked like a crime scene, bodies sprawled against each other in bloodless carnage.

The muted TV screen, playing the animated feature sucked back into darkness.

Standing over them, Satou set the remote on the dresser.

* * *

The voicemail filled the room with a tinny whine. Large bursts of exhalation consumed the speaker like ocean waves.

_“... so I just hope you’re right about that damn drug. I’m NOT going to jail for killing a child. Wire an extra 30% for the stress. And remember to clean out the house by noon tomorrow, there’s a walkthrough at 1.” [beeeep]_

Anon cupped his phone to his chest, like a precious love letter. A dreamy sigh escaped his nose, his eyes closed. He was smiling, lying down in bed even though it was a little too early in the evening to sleep. But the message was a lullaby in the same way as the pounding rain on his window pane. 

...and he had quite the show to attend.

As Anon welcomed sleep, the elements raged on. Dripping from his umbrella in the welcome area, swimming around his shoes in his genkan, trailing into his room like a trail of blood where water pooled at the foot of a deliberately hung, article of clothing.

A floor-length black cloak. 

* * *

_Drip_

Inoue groaned against sleep, registering a remarkable stiffness in her back. Something hard was prodding into her stomach and she shifted away from it.

_Drip_

But the texture was grainy and sharp. Rock. The flow of water echoed.

_Drip_

Echoed _deeply_.

Inoue’s eyes shot open, but it was dark. Immediately the alarms began firing around her. Assessing where in the world she was, planning the escape. She sat up, hands prodding blindly at what had become her waking bed. It was rock alright. All around her. A _cave_.

She stumbled upright, blind eyes wide open but slowly adjusting to the dark. The air was humid, the temperature hard to place against the cold stone around her. 

She remembered being in Kakehashi’s home. The harrowing recount. Kosuke’s reaction. The seizure. Just the memory crippled her. She had passed out. Sawada was there.

The agitation drilled into her, sending her heart pounding. What happened? Where was she? Was she kidnapped?

Then there was a moan, bouncing off the cave walls. It squeezed her spine.

“ _Who’s there?_ ” She whispered. The worst-case scenarios were already cycling through another lap. She couldn’t die here.

“Inoue?” Sawada, groggy. Lilting with his own alarm as hers dimmed slightly. “Where are we?”

“I-I don’t know.” And then she shrieked as a hand brush against her leg.

“Sorry! It’s dark… grab my hand.” It took a moment but she wove her hand into his, a death grip.

“ _Ouch!_ Haa…” They rose against a spire of rock, wary of the cave’s ceiling height. “Let’s… follow along the wall.”

Their steps echoed along the path, in chorus with the drip of moisture. Vague outlines growing sharper and clearer as they pushed forward. His hands were clammy, not much different than the cave walls. Light. Their destination ebbed an ambient glow and the path before them seemed to expand, less of a cave and more of a man-made tunnel.

“Do you hear that?”

Inoue could see the wide-eyed recognition on Sawada’s face now. His school uniform was scuffed and wet, he had lost his signature beanie somewhere along the way. She only had to pause a moment to register what he was talking about.

The roar of falling water.

“A waterfall?” Inoue’s mind raced at the implications, while Sawada looked possessed, staring at the faint glow of the cavern.

“Let’s go.” And Sawada broke free of her hand, racing ahead toward the light, the end of the tunnel growing brighter and brighter still.

“Sawada!” Inoue complained, nervously scampering after him until freedom broke and he slowed in the bath of light.

Inoue’s jaw dropped.

Her footsteps shuffled along lush green moss and rich black earth. Before her the world expanded, dropping off along a massive mountain of a cliff, stretching out into an expansive horizon. Steam billowed around them like they were standing among clouds. Meanwhile, the majesty of an impossible stretch of tumbling water stole the sights and sounds and smells. An elevated plate of ocean between a deep chasm of glowing hot molten lava.

In the center of it all was a city, ancient and wise, shimmering along the surface in a timeless bubble. 

Inoue was speechless. Disbelief.

Where _were_ they?

“Look.” Sawada’s voice, dumbfounded. A shaking hand pointing ahead at something moving in the distance.

And if the world around her wasn’t breath-taking enough, she laid eyes on _him_.

His throne stood atop a molten spire of rock towering high above the sea of lava. Clouds of steam surrounding him like he was the sky itself. The waterfalls were his crown. The wind encircling him was his court. His robes of black and red and plaid accents were embroidered with buttons and buckles and pockets. Orbs of pure light danced his praises. The crashing elements were his thunderous fanfare. 

His _birthright_.

And in his hands was a royal scepter. A key. Gleaming gold hilt, a flashing silver shaft, teeth glowing like a supernova. Magic dancing from the blade superfluously. Pure light shimmering off the river of tears on his face.

Blue eyes closed blind with faith. Embraced by an unfathomable serenity.

“Kakehashi-kun…” Inoue breathed, quaking at the sight.

“No.” Sawada choked, dazzled and overwhelmed, his own eyes spilling over.

“ _Sora_.”

-X Continue…?-

  
  



	21. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you for the wonderful comments on the previous chapter and for the wait for this one. I have been waiting for ages to unfold that beat and I'm just so excited that you are finally in this zany new stage in the story. If you are forgetful like me, you may want to refresh yourself on the conclusion of the B-plot that's been waiting in the wings since chapter 14. My speed isn't nearly as fast as it was at the start of quarantine but I'll find my rhythm with this arc. Thank you so much for reading Ivory Wall!

Sora knew it the moment air entered his lungs.  
  


It was heavy with moisture, a hot saturation coursing into his system with violent alarm. What was the scent of stale air, laced with traces of fresh paint, was now a wave of tangy salt and burning air. The smooth hardwood floors that banged uncontrollably against his limbs were now coarse pumice crumbling in his slow rise to consciousness. The roar of falling water in the distance drowned away the memory of a crying girl and a stranger’s rushing clamor down the steps. And while bleary eyes allowed little light into the dark scenery around him, he didn’t need his physical senses to register the starkest change.

Electricity bubbled under his skin. His racing heart knocked against a rattling metal something. A proverbial _thud_ in what once was very certainly hollow.

Sora scrambled to his feet, stumbling over far larger shoes, jostling a chain around his neck, and brushing against pockets and buckles. His steps revved an engine inside, the light at the end of the cave growing in tandem with the swelling comprehension. He emerged out in the open like breaking the surface water, fresher air still. His eyes sparkled at the sight.

The World was beautiful. A city perched on a platform of endlessly cascading water. Ancient stone structures covered in moss and vines, keeping watch from the surface. The distant epicenter of life-- a towering civilization in time torn structures.

Sora could practically see its beating heart. He wanted to open every door. Explore every crevice. Learn every story. He needed to lock eyes with every face. It was a song to him. The lyrics were impossible to forget. 

Slowly, he raised his hand before himself, curling away from view the emblem of a grey gauntlet. His palm trembled with a helpless doubt. A phantom weight resting atop his grasp by work of memory alone. There wasn’t any question now. He knew.

There was a flash. Reality sliced open to make room for the welcome companion. The Keyblade settled in perfectly.

And Sora’s face was hot with a sudden pressure. The beautiful sight shimmered behind a wall of tears like a million diamonds. It vibrated in his hands, edging him forward. 

A moat of lava bubbling below turned the cascade of water into billowing steam. A ruthless element, but there was no room for fear. Inspired, the urge to respond to the taunting magma plowed forward, brakeless and free from limitation for the first time in what felt like ages. The Keyblade erupted with a burst of blue magic, a spiral of ice launching out into the deadly ravine with the expressed purpose of summoning a glacier path over it.

Sora didn’t think. He jumped atop his creation, feeling the lurch of gravity shiver up his spine while he slid down as though anchored to its track. He swerved around superfluous arcs and loops of his inspired design. It laughed at the thrill of danger, invoking its presence in an eager homecoming. 

Cathartic, he was grinning through wet eyes, a different kind of pressure knocked in his throat. The hot air smacked his face as he edged close to the magma, only to veer up and away. Riding the supercooled steam, the elements collided at his feet, ice racing beneath his soles. He conjured a dramatic lift in the slide and he was suddenly in a vertical shot, momentum sending him weightless, higher, and higher. 

That pressure inside him finally exploded into a flurry of heart leaping laughter, garbled with an elated cheer in the slowing climb of his flight. It was a blissful arc, staring into the seemingly endless blue.

And as gravity ushered him down, Sora twisted toward the earth with open arms. He rushed toward the lava, the wind howling in his ears as he sailed. He landed on a spire of rock, towering above the protective moat. Panting. Eye’s sparkling. High on the delight that flaked off his body like stardust.

From his perch, Sora tore into his supply of magic, slashing his once lost blade through the air as the resource pooled around him. A manic flurry of spells launched above him like fireworks. Bursts of ice and fire. Splashes of wind and water. It rained down on him while tendrils of light needlessly swam. Because he could. Because it was possible. Because it was real.

Because he was Sora.

Exhaustion stood alongside an unreal calm. The Keyblade pushed against his hand. He could close his eyes and know that it was there.

* * *

Inoue's mouth was agape, wrapping her head around the sight. Her knees buckled and she crashed onto the dark soil cliffside. It was enough to tear Sawada away from his observation.

“Inoue!” Her jaw was trembling, eyes bulging.

“Ka-Ka- Ka- Ka-…” She could feel her heart crash against her chest. She couldn’t spit out her words, she couldn’t understand what was going on. Possessed, Inoue tore her eyes from the distant _creature_ to survey the unfamiliar, _impossible_ setting. A whine on her lips.

This… this wasn’t possible. This place. The fantastical war of fire and water, the ancient stones, the foreign city in the distance. _Kakehashi_. His precarious perch, that strange weapon, the lights dancing around him.

“This can’t be real.” Her voice was breathless. Every moment was a chance to prove her convictions right, and every moment her eyes betrayed her. The air kissed her skin. The sounds rang around her. This _was_ real.

The denial knocked her back and forth in a sick coaster. The series of summoned answers unfolding in her thoughts burned to ash one after the other. The unknown clamped down hard and all she could feel was fear. Mortal fear.

She jumped to her feet in a clumsy stumble backward, dirt caking onto her knees. She couldn’t stop looking around, looking for the smoke and mirrors, wishing for the camera, the curtain.

“Inoue!” Sawada exclaimed again. He too was overwhelmed, shaking in confusion alongside a sure dose of pure wonder. But Inoue’s violent breathing was beyond the point of alarming. 

“ _What is this place?!_ ” She was hysterical. Full-on breakdown. Cut off from everything she’d ever known.

Sawada jumped forward seeing her wobbly constitution, held up only by a shock of adrenaline. He grabbed her by the arms and squared himself to her face.

“Inoue! Listen to me. You need to breathe.” Her anxiety crept up his arms like a plague. 

That was a bad idea. Trapped, Inoue only felt it escalate. “Lemme go!” She screamed, recklessly wrestling against him. 

“No! Stop!” Sawada protested her sudden erratic movements, unsure of if he should relent until he had no choice. She threw herself away from his stabilizing grasp, the momentum of the struggle running its course.

There was a sick moment that registered as blank horror on her face all while her weight tipped on and on. The glow of a molten inferno simmered beneath her. The massive drop to certain death secured its hold.

Inoue fell. 

Sawada screamed after her, flat on the earth and reaching uselessly down the cliff. The plummet was confirmation of every terror Inoue conjured in her short moment of bombarding understanding. The light and heat of her destination would intensify while gravity threw her down, at the mercy of the very earth itself. 

And then there was a mind-boggling change in trajectory. Her final view spun in violent somersaults. There was a keen pressure wrapping tight around her and everything stopped. She dangled above the terrifying elements, her demise only a couple of stories below.

Her mind was blank in preparation, now woefully underdressed for the moment. It took the slight motion wrapped around her to bring her to turn her head.

Clinging to the side of the cliff with one hand was Kakehashi-- his other arm preventing her fiery death. His wild concern consumed her vision with tight proximity and he was panting from his startling rescue. He was... so different. His crazy hair undulating in the circulating wind. His too blue eyes were so wide and so close. It was... _he_ _roic_. She felt her throat constrict as her face flared hotter than the lava below.

“Inoue,” He said. There was disbelief. “H-How are you here?”

And despite everything, the girl’s tongue sharpened while she verbally balked.

“I should be asking _you_ that.”

* * *

Sawada watched with wonder as Sora emerged from the cliffside, Inoue in tow. He set her down before scrambling to close the distance to the other student on the ledge.

“Sawada?!” Sora was laughing in surprise, a hand running through his brow. Sawada couldn’t help the elated mirror of his friend’s enthusiasm, nodding fervently. Without hesitation, Sora pulled Sawada into an embrace that he returned out of pure necessity. Confirmation of reality. A cathartic release. 

But it was Sora who froze in the hug, a spark of realization sobering the moment cold. 

He pulled back, a nervous tremble in his jaw while his eyes remembered a different moment in time. A dark night in a heartless city. Helpless reaching out into the dark. The betrayal in Sawada’s eyes as he left him in a pile of lies.

Sawada felt his story catch up on him with stark awareness. The curiosity of his most recent actions was the least of his concerns, but Sora silently demanded them. This fantastic gift of a person. His mind’s greatest conjuring, real. A somehow doubtless understanding.

“Sora,” The name was so fitting, how could he have ever denied him that right? He spoke it with confidence, lightly stained with the shame of hindsight. An answer to his hesitation. “I’m so sorry.”

The words weren’t enough, not for Sawada’s conscience. A crisis of faith tainting the air between them. But Sora was smiling, cheeks tracked with salt, unrelenting forgiveness. The release of his shackles. Sora eyes softened, too engrossed in savoring the experience of his sanctuary. 

“It’s okay.”

Simple words. _Painfully_ simple. But with them was a paradox of elation and violent denial. How could it be okay? How could it be so simple? How could those words be so… so _Sora?_ How could he have ever doubted? How could he ever forgive him and why did he already do it?

The grace. It was everything he wanted and more. He felt like a fish, silently opening his mouth to voice a protest or a spell of gratitude. Years ago, he was a child enamored with the fun and familiar characters on a game cover, mystified by the face that was now in front of him. A heart he didn't yet know. A face he had no obligation to regard. And then they journeyed together. Sora formed a bridge for Sawada to escape into the magic, a place where your wildest dreams were tangible, precious things worth fighting for. He loved it there and he loved the friend who carried him there.  
  
Sora. _The_ Sora. Before him. Breathing the same air. Accepting him back in. Calling him friend back. Sawada Shoto was the luckiest kid alive.

There were too many tears shed already, but Sawada found more in him. Shaking, he grabbed Sora’s hand with two of his own. He fell to his knees with sudden weakness, holding onto him like he’d disappear right there. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sawada said, crying with his head bowed. And he said it again and again. Sora’s heart pulled at the words.

"Hey..." He nudged gently, voice light and encouraging. "Pull it together, Sawada."

Miraculously, Sawada coughed a laugh. It was not lost to him what the exchange looked like. 

"'Truth is stranger than fiction.'" He muttered in a salty-eyed amusement. It took Sora's breath away, a keen and impossible comfort.  
  


“How did this happen?” Inoue asked listlessly as Sawada assembled himself slowly. She appeared distant, an eternal melancholy tugging on her lips as her gaze fixated on a spot in space around the pair. She was exhausted with the shock, overwhelmed by the stimulus, numb to her grating thoughts.

Sora took a sobered breath. “I’m not exactly sure.” He regarded Inoue’s depression with sympathy. “You already know that I’m from another World,… another… _Reality_.”

He looked at the marvel around him. There were specks of wildlife scattering about the air. The plant life around the cliffside and across the ravine moved by force of wind and company alike. It was entirely foreign on a surface level. He had never been there before. But on another level… it was like coming home.

“Some things happened and… I found myself in your world. I was helpless. Things worked differently. Nothing made sense to me.”

Sawada had calmed down by now, releasing his grasp, eyes red, and looking up as Sora continued the trepidatious thoughts coming to mind. “For a moment… I think I started doubting myself. Who I was.”

Putting it into words suddenly brought that agony to the surface. It was a pain, unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Like he tore his own heart out of his body and watched it fall apart in front of his eyes. Sora regarded the resurfacing emotions cautiously. 

“I think I was dying.” 

That much felt sure. There was nothing more it could have been. Even while he was currently very much alive, the notion lingered alongside him. A ghost of himself he’d never shake. 

“I was so scared. So… _so_ scared.” He felt his breath hitch. His every memory and objection met irrefutable evidence. Who he was. His sense of self. His existence. To feel his convictions decay like that. Knowing that his last and strongest advocate was succumbing to the elements.

Sora pressed his mouth in a line. There wasn’t a betrayal quite like it. 

“I remember wanting something so much. More than _anything_. And…and then I woke up here.” He couldn’t help the fond smile split his face as he again regarded the World again. His savior. 

His new friends enter his vantage point and he welcomed the waves of gratitude. What would this moment have tasted like if he were alone? How tainted would it've been if he never signed his farewell? The beauty of the World and the moment danced around them and it was all the greater shared.

“I don’t understand how you both ended up following me. But here you are!”

Inoue was silent through his explanation on the verge of some kind of fitful peace. Nevertheless, her response was laced with self-pitying bitters. Childish sulking. “And where’s _here’_?”

Sora rocked back, relinquished from the burdens of his memories. “No idea.”

That made Inoue’s eyes bulge. “Huh? What do you mean _‘no idea’_? T-This isn’t the ‘world’ you’re from?” That supposed peace was slipping away very quickly.

Sora shook his head. “Never seen this place in my life!”

“B-But, you said you… How is it that you wanted to go somewhere you’ve never _been_ before?” Inoue grabbed at her head, fingers releasing some strands from her ponytail. “I… I don’t understand what’s going on… does this mean we can’t go home?”

She was relapsing into despair, curling in on herself. Sora’s empathy flared to life and he felt for the girl. He knew what it was like to be stranded in an unfamiliar world. He sighed, reaffirming the soft smile on his face. “Don’t worry Inoue. There’s always a way home.” 

Inoue was frozen at his sure optimism. It was such a stark shift in demeanor, but at the same time, it seemed so natural. It was unreal confidence against the odds. 

“I may not know where we are, but I know how to follow my heart.”

And as if to emphasize his point, the air around his hand shimmered. There was a flash, and a giant key cleaved into existence, resting in his hand as he threw its bladelike shaft over his shoulder. His blue eyes staring at her intently.

_“I know where we are.”_

Sawada spoke up, composed if not a little mellow. He was staring off into the distant horizon, fixed at a certain point. Inoue and Sora were startled out of their exchange and followed his sightline.

“How?” Inoue drilled in disbelief. 

“Because I’ve seen it before.” Sawada pointed at the distant city sitting atop the impossible ocean. The word was on his lips and he hesitantly traced around them with his mouth before adding his voice. 

“ _Atlantis.._.”

Sora cocked his head.

“... _‘The Lost Empire’_.”

* * *

The Master of Masters sucked in a deep breath of his own. The humid air was thinner at this height, though everything in this land was technically submerged beneath the great depths. A fate granted for the empire’s ruthless greed and hubris. He stood atop a monument to that folly. 

He was a simple man, and could perhaps find himself marveling at the texture of rock and moss beneath his black boots. Or perhaps he’d find fascination in the manner of dominating foliage weaseling through the cracks of the fantastical ruins, as though touting a loud and proud victory over the lifeless and crumbling remains of human creations. Life, after all, was an indomitable force.

His attention was aptly stolen by the traveling caravan of travelers entering the realms of the once-great city below. Military men flanked by researchers and tradesmen, surrounded by primitively armed, white-haired natives serving as benevolent escorts.

Their eyes bulged around the towering ruins and the growing bustle of civilization with the same wonder he’d expect of Sora. At this rate, things would pass his fellow tourist by.

The Master poised his hands behind his back and regarded the direction the travelers beneath him had come from. It would have been nice to see his Sora come unto his powers again. He missed the smile that was surely on his face. 

He lingered with the light bitterness for only a moment. And then, with conviction, the overseeing visitor to this strange land raised his foot with dramatic wind-up. His boot came down with a percussive strike, rattling his stone tower perch into a cascading rumble, a large crack erupting underfoot like a bolt of lightning. One by one, the weaker stones crumbled from the abandoned structure. The Master gracefully jumped from the tower to witness it fall into a pile of rubble before him.

A pity. Long ago, human labor erected the structure for pride and purpose, and yet a single step brought that effort into insignificance. At the mercy of time and human failure, even the immortal could fall. 

But _beyond_ that. Through the constructs of words and understanding. Deep underneath that arbitrary meaning and inferred purpose was a greater tragedy. Those pebbles were drops of paint on canvas. That lost vision was lines of graphite on paper. This set-piece once dwelled alone in the hearts of artists, only to finally be stolen from the insurmountable walls of a personal sanctuary. 

Pure vandalism.

The Master strolled through the newly fallen rocks and lightly kicked around the smaller stones, like a picky child poking around a meal. But it didn’t take long for a shift to occur beneath the rubble. There was a stirring distortion and the Master smiled sweetly.

“Oh, you guys _are_ cute...” 

The low-leveled Unchained shimmered into existence, pulling their chain-like ears out of the fabric of the Story. Two Drafts shuffled from the ruins of what should have been whole.

“...and so sensitive.” It didn’t take much to pull the abominations into existence, a testament to the nature of the ground that birthed them. They flickered closer to the hem of his cloak, regarding him. 

“That’s right.” He spoke with a theatrically enthusiastic voice like one would talk to a dog. “I’m like you.”

A virus.

He reached down and stroked between the scrub's tiny jackalope horns as the sightless holes-for-eyes understood the hierarchy of corruption. He clung to the metaphysical power endowed upon him with an unspoken promise between them. 

“Do you want to say hello to a friend of mine?”

* * *

* * *

Ven’s face held a restless sleep. Strewn across the floor of the Mysterious Tower, he lacked the emptiness of his previous tragic visit.

Glowing cracks inched along his body, as though his skin was made of stone and a reservoir of angry light hid beneath him. Those ravines of nothing varied in width. The spiderwebs of damage sprawled a thin lattice while chaotic ravagings left him with literal holes in his body like chipped paint. His breathing came in short hitches, teeth bared, concealing grunts and whimpers as he flaked away. His limbs clenched in agony against the ebb of loss. The pain of his slowly dissolving physical existence fluctuated from an itch to a conscious decapitation.

Terra’s hands trembled, engulfing Ven’s writhing hands that glowed between his fingers like caged fireflies. He crowded him against the wall, protective from the other eyes in the room. On his knees, he looked as though begging for forgiveness.

Beside him was Aqua, delicately brushing her finger through Ven’s bangs. His head rested upon her lap as she lightly held his head to meet hers. She could feel the divots in his cheeks where he no longer existed. Tears dripped down her nose and she occasionally attempted to voice a small comfort to her precious friend. 

The room was impossibly tense. A blanket of grave anguish after the initial bluster of information and shock. Yen Sid clasped his hands tight at his desk. Waiting.

But while Aqua’s tears were silent, Merida’s sobs were stifled only by the large distance drawn between them. The wayward princess was tucked in a corner beside a bookshelf, her mess of wild red hair serving as a curtain of privacy though perfectly framing the carnage of her most immediate memories. She literally held herself together, hiccuping and crying behind her hands.

“Princess.”

The voice nearest to Merida was toneless. A blank call to attention. The speaker wasn’t looking at her, just as equally withdrawn from Ven’s tragedy as he was captivated by it. Merida was startled enough to cut off her involuntary sobs. 

“You need to pull yourself together,” Riku continued, jaw set. His arms were locked tight together. He held his chin low. The bookshelf tilted at his leaning weight. His eyes were sharp but empty.  
  
The command prodded the girl in a sickening way. The mortifying recognition of her dissolving stability. The audacious, ineffective slide of the heartless words rolling off her. Her stomach twisted and the anguish morphed into something hot.  
  
“ _‘Pull myself together?’_ ”

Her hands flickered into fists. The rush of anger drove out the heartache and Merida looked up to the boy beside her. The memories flowed. His blade, drawn between Mor’du’s mortal blow. His despondent stillness in a grassy clearing that echoed the click of a lock. His shock as the dark monsters dissolved around her, orbs of light scattering where her mother should have been.

_“Pull myself together!?”_

The room jerked and Riku stumbled as Merida climbed up his leg to a standing position. He towered over her but the anger was fierce and she grabbed at his jacket and pulled him down. 

“ _My home! My family!_ Everything is gone **_because of you!_ ** All of you!” She screamed in his face, tears pouring down. “Why did you have to come? None of this would have happened if you hadn’t come!”

Around them, Terra curled forward and Aqua was glaring through her own tears. Yen Sid’s clasped hands tightened.

Riku’s face was dark and indecipherable. He stewed with her words, weighing the guilt, the anger, the situation. The casualty across the room stirred behind him in pain. 

_“With him nowhere to be found, you have to wonder if Sora’s suffered the same fate.”_ Xigbar had taunted _._

Riku sucked in a breath through a snap of bared teeth. Then, he was suddenly grabbing the princess by the shoulders, barreling forward several steps.

“ _Would you just shut-up!_ ” Riku yelled. He shocked himself into fitful pants before reclaiming his anger. 

“Ven is ** _dying_ ** and _you_ were the only thing able to stop it until you decided to throw a _tantrum_ _!”_

Merida’s wild tear-stained face stole yet another glance at her savior’s fate. During the Unraveling, Ven’s illness miraculously froze at her touch. But it didn’t take long to discover that such a treatment was of a temporary nature. Useless. Burdensome. Guilty. It’s what sent Merida to her initial retreat. It’s what brought Riku’s desperate rage. 

_“We don’t have time for your heart to waver.”_ Riku shook her. His own composure was crumbling. She could see the fear beneath his skin like he too had cracks tearing him apart. 

“That is enough.” Yen Sid interjected, rising from his desk, an eternal scowl on his face. “Mickey will not be long. We must not throw accusations so blindly.”

Riku took a step back, unlatching himself from the princess. He swallowed his racing emotions with more than a few glances at the door. The impulse to run was near the surface of his instincts once again, anchored only by the dying moans from his ally. Yen Sid closed his eyes contemplatively.

“Even you can see, Riku. Merida’s Light has expired. Soiled by no fault of her own.”

Merida didn’t understand the language used. She reached for her Heart nevertheless.

“Not all is lost,” Aqua interjected. Words like a prayer. She didn’t tear her wet gaze away from Ven. “We still have a Light that can save him.” She stroked his golden hair methodically.

Yen Sid nodded slowly. “Yes. But I must prepare you: the Light of a Princess of Heart is not Ventus’s salvation alone.”

Terra regarded those words with grim expectation. 

_“He needs to save himself. His memory is the key. His lost memory. It’s time._ He needs to get it back! _”_

Xigbar had been too scared to be lying. 

He saw a patch of Ven’s body submit to the inferno of light. Time. They needed time.

“Why did this have to happen?” Terra found himself asking and the forlorn princess at the far end of the room shook at her thoughts made real. Her mouth quivered. 

“It was going to hit my mum... He saved her.”

The queen’s demise was a perfect snapshot in Riku’s memory. Heartless, present only by his call. The impossible distance stretched before him. She’d be with them if not for his actions. 

“I’m so sorry.”

Merida said the words in a rush of air and Riku shook as his thoughts were made real. A voice that wasn’t his own, saying the words he felt so deeply in his heart. It only accented his weakness.

_“Everything is all my fault.”_

Why did he let Sora leave? 

The faith that he’d come back. Confidence that he’d save _her_ and return with a smile on his face. It all felt so foolish. Malicious ignorance. And now everything was falling apart because of it. How could he relinquish something so precious? 

_Look at us, Sora_.

An ally perished a slow and merciless end. The reward for ceaseless self-sacrifice. No amount of prior suffering or daunting heroics was enough payment from the eternal debtor. He didn’t deserve this. Terra and Aqua had only just gotten him back.

The princess fell to pieces in a different way. Her story, incomplete. The weight of her World’s destruction, a haunting memory. Guilt lancing into every thought, an endless spiral of understanding that she couldn’t escape from. The sole survivor. A lone existence.

How _could_ he?

Nobody moved to comfort her and nobody moved to stop Riku’s escape.

The steps clattered under his boots, increasing in speed the further along he got. He couldn’t move fast enough. He couldn’t get far enough away. And he couldn’t breathe.

How familiar was the sensation of opening that World’s heart up. The ease of unlocking it. The wave of darkness rushing in. He felt it like a hungry void spilling in. All the while, his mind was pacified by the conscious understanding that doing it was _‘good’_ and _‘right’_ and _‘perfectly okay’_. (Will you come back now?) The foolish, deluded, immature, purpose he had felt was a poison-laced within every spindle of consuming darkness. It was the same as it was back then. Replace destroyed trees and stones with white sand and children's boats.

(He had reached out toward _him_ as their home dissolved around them. For you… Please...)

Riku ran, gasping as he stumbled down the tower. 

Sora can fix it. Sora's done it before. Don’t go Sora. Come back Sora. Where are you, Sora?

Why did you go?

Riku had thrown open the entrance to the tower with his full body weight, hoping beyond hope that doing so would welcome air into his lungs. But his momentum stopped dead as his path was suddenly blocked, removing any and all chances for oxygen.

“Riku…”

Before him, escorted by his dear friend, stood Kairi. Her blue eyes wide with surprise, consumed by concern, radiating an indomitable light that was too bright to stare at head-on.

_Why did you go?_

The months had done their number. While still garbed in her familiar vestments, there were scuffs and frays. Her once lovingly primed red hair was longer and abandoned. Her face was sleepless and worn. There settled the armor of a bleeding heart.

Kairi. Just as broken. As good a reason as anything.

His jaw trembled. The weight was too much. He couldn’t do this.

“I-I’m sorry.” And before Riku could fall apart anymore, he tore himself away towards his ship, forever a coward. Mickey called after him for as long as he could spare. 

The pair would enter the somber study after that with worried urgency. Kairi’s heart would be heavy with a stolen reunion as she took in the carnage of light in front of her. A clap to her mouth, an uncontrollable cry, the tremor of certain panic. 

A crack in the foundation.

[Loading...]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a deep breath. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to engage with my tumblr! (http://kitsoa.tumblr.com/) I make fanart and write theories and stuff.


End file.
